To Love a Lie
by Tomo Trillions
Summary: [Complete - 11/06] [WxV shounen ai/Wolfwood SPOILERS] How can a priest with a past like Wolfwood's fall in love? How can he deal with the emotion after so long without it? And what's more...will he ever be able to tell Vash? Angst!
1. Somtimes the target is strong

Title: To Live A Lie  
Rating: R for language, citrus, Large Wolfwood Spoilers, possible violence, slash  
Couplings: Wolfwood x Vash, light Wolfwood x Midvalley/Midvalley x Wolfwood, vague Knives x Vash and LegatoxMidvalley NCS implications, lightlightlight WolfwoodxMilly, one sided Meryl adoration, possibly some Legatocrushing later...Because I *like* this love septagon! S'fun!  
Notes: Ah, the first decently long Trigun fic I've done in a long time... ^_^;; I tend to write short, bloody/fluffy one-shots, but this is actually going to have ~gasp~ chapters and a ~larger gasp~ plot! This takes place between episodes 18 and 23 of the anime timeline. I know, small gap there which I've shamelessly expanded a bit, bu-uuu-uuut they never say how much time goes by between those episodes! And being the rabid fangirl that I am, adding a few days here or there is an exusable offense if it means more ooshy-gooshy angsty romance...  
  
Anyway. All of my WxV stuff tends to have Wolfwood already fallen for Vash...this one started out the same way, and then I decided I'd rather turn it into a longer story, centering around how Wolfwood falls for Vash rather than how he jumps in the sack with him. I think it'll be a bit darker than that, too...  
  
Tomo: MASTER! I live to serve you~  
Knives: Let me have Vash, then, you filthy human scum!  
Tomo: Not now, this time it's Wolfwood's turn to get some. *pats Wolfwood on the head...not THAT one, that's Vash's job, you sicko!*  
Wolfwood: ......Scooooooore....  
  
~~~~~~  
  
There are times when I'm just a shell   
When I do not feel anything for anyone   
All I feel is hollow and bruised   
Used up and misused   
Forced to be someone I don't want to be   
[~ Darkest Days - Stabbing Westward]  
  
~~~~~~  
  
The dark haired priest stepped off the rickity bus with the attitude of a man more than aware that he had been consigned to several straight weeks of living hell. It wasn't that he really minded the swarms of terrified people that were currently offering the driver of the vehicle money to take them away (though he did shove past them with a little less grace than could be considered polite). In fact, his surroundings, which would have made most people turn and run or at least head back to more civilized portions of the planet, didn't really figure in his equation of what was or wasn't a decent assignment from the leader of the Gung-ho Guns. It wasn't even that he would be leaving the closest thing he'd ever had to a partner (As if that word could describe it!) behind...  
  
These instructions didn't settle well with him - there was something inherently wrong in the assignment he had been stuck with. Why him? Why not Midvalley, or Dominique - both were a bit prettier than Wolfwood, a bit more likely to be pressed into the good graces of a gun-toting, peace-loving moron...   
  
It wasn't that he was really scared of the legendary gunman, either. Or that he believed in what he was fighting for - hell, no! In fact, the only reason he was here was that Legato Bluesummers tended to make a point irresistable when he wanted something done. It was enough to make a grown man weep.  
  
Well...there was that... and the little fact that Vash the Stampede, in general, made Nicholas D. Wolfwood one exceedingly uncomfortable God-loving hitman.  
  
Explosions rattled the are as he hefted his cross punisher over one shoulder and started down the street, taking in the battered facades of the buildings in with a skeptically raised eyebrow. This was where Vash had been hiding for so long? Figures, the bum didn't even have the mental capacity to retire in style. Sighing, the dark haired man tried to shove the image of glittering amber eyes out of his brain, though the phantom of a memory hung there before his mind's eye like a wraith that would not be exorcised. -   
  
- "The orders are in place once more. Find Vash the Stampede. Lead him here. You will play the traitorous pawn, and the children of December will stay safe, dear Chapel." -   
  
How he hated that eerily familiar voice, ringing in his ears with superiority that was only humbled in the prescense of one being...Legato Bluesummers, terrifying monster of mental 'games' notorious for leaving the players dead or shattered beyond repair... The moment the lives of his precious children had been mentioned, Wolfwood had been ensnared with no way out - Legato spoke of spiders and butterflies, of crimes and punishment. He spoke with the assurence of one who's logic is skewed beyond all recall, a madman.  
  
To hell with that.  
  
  
~~~~~  
  
Have I failed somehow or some way   
Will the weight of today finally pull me down to drown   
In the depths of despair   
Where I am alone   
Except for my rage...  
  
~~~~~  
  
  
The entire fucking situation made the priest a bit bitter, and he must have looked the part when he entered the first sleazy, run-down bar he came across - because in moments every weapon in a radius of twenty feet had been sighted on his heart.  
  
Lifting his hands in a universal symbol of surrender, Wolfwood edged into the smoke-infested safe haven and found a stool to perch on, leaning his heavy cross against the polished wooden surface and calling to the man passing out drinks. He ordered a shot or two and a small sandwhich, the kind that never tasted decent but would negate the need to find another spot to eat lunch in, and traced his coarse fingertip over the deep scratches of the wooden surface while his meal was prepared.  
  
Legato had promised Vash would be here, and one did not question a psychopath like that - Wolfwood sighed and slipped his hand down against the smooth black coat he always wore, probing about beneath the collar for one of the cigarettes he always kept handy - yet his hand brushed something else, and the preacher winced visibly. There against his chest was the warm sensation of metal licking his skin - the silver gun he had discovered sitting amongst the ruins of Augusta, have buried in soot and rubble, but glittering under the twin suns none the less.   
  
Had it really been two years?  
  
He made idle talk with the bar tender about the state of the town - unneccessary, since he already knew everything that was going on, but it made him look a good deal less suspicious to the others in the room. Gradually the tense atmosphere that had settled when the priest entered the bar lifted, men in the corners returning to their conversations and poker games, like they were meant to do. Like Wolfwood would have done, if he weren't waiting uneasily for his target to enter the room.  
  
As the bartender spoke on in a long, bored drawl, the black-clad priest ate, nodding along with the man's frivolous descriptions of 'Vash the Stampede', the outlaw said to be attacking their town. How foolish. He had met the legendary gunman and while Wolfwood had been impressed, it was not all together in the manner he had expected. In fact, his three-time aquaintence had figured largely in his dreams for the last two years, and he wasn't quite sure why. Sure, it was nice meeting a legend, but really....   
  
Wolfwood liked women. Always had....almost. The dreams were probably something Legato had arranged to tamper with his self confidence. The bastard.  
  
Another being burst into the bar - a tall blonde with hair that tickled his shoulders and a pair of steel-rimmed glasses perched on his nose that seemed dangerously close to slipping off and crunchig underfoot. Wolfwood sensed the man's identity before he even turned around, the aura of sheer idioy that followed Vash the Stampede like a cloud tickled the hairs on the back of his neck - how could anything so blatently stupid wield such power? As the blonde made his way across the bar with a young thing on his arm, a girl with wide innocent eyes, Wolfwood concentrated on working through the lunch that had been set before him, recalling the last few times he had crossed paths with Vash the Stampede.  
  
There was that time on the bus, when Vash had ever so kindly noticed the light glittering off Wolfwood's buckles.... Caine had been right on when he guessed the angle of the suns and the timing of the bus's route. That wasn't a talent Wolfwood had ever envied (he was not a long-distance killer by any means...it seemed sneaky to shoot people down when they couldn't see the whites of your eyes), but his preciseness had been impressive. Then there was the tournament, when they had fought one another - completely rigged, of course. Planned perfectly, like each hotel room Vash would stay in for the next year or two, like every pitstop and game. However long it took - and that scope of his orders terrified the priest. How long was he supposed to chase after this immortal gunman, anyway?  
  
The one chance occasion where their paths had crossed had undermined a bit of Wolfwood's confidence. Seeing Vash shoot down two innocents had surprised him - and his mind had made the obvious connection. Rubber bullets. How quaint! *Still.* Was there some sort of connection, some reason Wolfwood had not *really* been surprised when Vash had shown his face as his opponent?  
  
He liked to think not.  
  
When the proverbial shit hit the fan and the bar errupted into chaos, Nicholas D. Wolfwood wrapped an arm around the child's trembling shoulders and took in Vash's scarred, writhing body from over the black rims of his sunglasses without batting an eye. When the affair ended in predictable gunshots and the soft spattering of liquid blood over the sandy street, he followed Lina - that was the girl's name - to the hospital and waited (somewhat) patiently for Vash to be released from the operating room.  
  
And at last, when waiting grew a bit to old, Nicholas D. Wolfwood took a deep breath and threw himself into his mission with all the whole-heartedness he could muster.  
  
~~~~~  
  
My rage   
My pain   
I hate my darkest days   
My rage   
My pain   
I hate my darkest days   
My rage   
My pain   
I hate my darkest days   
My rage   
My pain   
I hate my darkest days   
My darkest days   
  
~~~~~  



	2. Sometimes the world is crashing down

  
  
~~~~  
Some nights I feel like I have died  
Or something deep inside is dying  
I try to understand my crimes  
But there's nothing that really matters  
  
I don't want to believe in you - I can't believe in you   
I don't want to believe in you - I can't believe in you   
I don't want it, I don't need it  
I don't want it, I don't need it  
I don't want it, I don't need it  
[~~Nothing - Stabbing Westward]  
~~~~  
  
"I want to go to New Oregon!"  
  
"I thought we were gonna check out the towns with the disappearances!"  
  
"Yeah, but New Oregon first!"  
  
"KANSAS!"  
  
"Hey, you go wherever you want, you're the one following me!"  
  
"URUSAI! SHUT UP BACK THERE!"  
  
Vash and Wolfwood flashed twinly innocent salutes and both settled back in the truck, sending sulky glances at one another every few moments - aquamarine eyes meeting slate blue-gray every so often and then slipping away without hesitation. Wolfwood wiped his mouth on his sleeve and tried not to concentrate on his cotton-like tongue - they had spilled all their water moments before, and even the faintly darker stain on the bed of the truck had nearly disappeared in the smoldering heat. Vash tended to move and think exactly as he did.. that was vaguely frightening, considering exactly *how* Wolfwood thought on a regular basis.  
  
Okay. Taking a deep breath, the priest let it hiss through his teeth and turned to watch the scenery pass by - that view dulled quickly, so he closed his eyes and brooded with a vengence. They could take a *small* detour, he supposed.... After all, if he 'ran into' Vash again the gunman might get suspicious... Wolfwood could always pass it off as a 'God-thing', but he doubted the blonde would really buy that. And he had been told to reel in the catch, no matter what...  
  
So Legato would just have to tell his impatient master to wait a bit. As long as Wolfwood wasn't on the wrong end of that anger, he'd be fine - and Legato would probably appreciate the extra attention, anyway.  
  
Smirk.  
  
Vash had leaned into his fist, propping it up on the rim of the truck bed, his eyes half closed as he sighed softly into the wind. It whistled past Wolfwood's ears as he watched the blonde move, his spikes of gold bending this way and that in the breeze and yet somehow reforming into the perfect mess Vash was so careful to uphold. When they had been on Angelina, Wolfwood hadn't had the chance to really study Vash, other than out of the corner of his eye, but now that they were on equal ground he could really try to see the blonde.  
  
And for some reason, it was hard to tear his eyes away.  
  
When Vash turned and looked at him questioningly, Nicholas allowed himself a broad smirk, which was met with an empty, plastered-on smile that slid easily into place. He cringed, frowned slightly, and looked away, ignoring Vash's surprised look under the pretext of searching his jacket for a cigarette. Surely it wasn't *his problem* if the target was unhappy... What else was he here for, anyway? Happiness was nothing.  
  
But those damned sad-looking eyes...  
  
**I've seen worse.** Nicholas admitted to himself, although in all honesty, the sheer unfathomably agony that seemed to swim about within Vash's eyes made him shiver. How could one person bear a load like that, even if that one person was superhuman and immortal? **Knives knows how to wear at his twin's defenses, that's for sure. I wonder if it's working the way he planned? Vash hasn't shown any sign of breaking while I've been around him...**  
  
"Ne, Wolfwood, I just got back into the world," Vash started again, his tone apologetic as he explained his position to the priest that was only half-listening. "I want to find out what's happened while I was gone, and I can't do that very well in an abandonded town..."  
  
Wolfwood blinked and turned his attention back to Vash, a startled expression on his face. "What?"  
  
"I don't want to start this off by fighting - "  
  
It took the priest a moment to realize that Vash was, in a way apologizing. He blinked back his surprise and hid the expression on this face with a burst of smoke, hoping his start hadn't given his position away. When was the last time someone had apologized to him, someone had tried to explain what they felt in order to avoid a fight? After so long with the Gung-ho Guns Wolfwood had nearly forgotten what forgiveness could feel like, though he spent his waking hours preaching it to the world. **I'm such a hypocrite,** he glowered to himself and exhaled, making Vash crinkle his nose cutely and look away, too polite to comment on what he considered a somewhat disgusting habit.  
  
"Ah," Wolfwood began, the words muffled by the cigarette hanging from his lip. "Um....yeah. Let's try to get along," he answered weakly, fixating his gaze on the sky above. "We can go to New Oregon if you like, let's just not stay too long."  
  
"You really don't mind?"  
  
"Nah. I just want to get to the bottom of this before any more orphans show up on my doorstep from towns where people have vanished..." the lie sounded weak to himself, but Vash's face narrowed slightly in sadness and complete belief.  
  
"That's why you're here?"  
  
Wolfwood nodded and swallowed, staring at the dust bouncing in the bottom of the truck's bed. It *shouldn't* be so hard to lie to someone... He was good at this. He lied to live. He lived a lie. Why did those aquamarine eyes strip away all of that and peer into who he was instead of who he appeared to be? It wasn't natural.  
  
Not natural at all.  
  
~~~~  
I don't want it but I can't stop myself  
Now endless questions fil my head  
Some nights I'm frightened by the answers  
No, you can't hurt me - Nothing's real  
No pain you cause can last forever  
  
I don't want to believe in you - I can't believe in you   
I don't want to believe in you - I can't believe in you   
I don't want it, I don't need it  
I don't want it, I don't need it  
I don't want it, I don't need it  
~~~~  
  
"Aaaaaah! It feels so good to sleep in a soft bed again! " Vash declared loudly, grinning at Wolfwood before flinging himself back on the bed and sighing gustily. The priest turned away and examined their small room, drying to distract himself from the cute way Vash's fingers curled while his dressy white shirt slipped open and revealed soft, pale flesh beneath -  
  
Wait, wait. *What*?  
  
Two beds, a nightstand, a bathroom and a low table filled the small quarters, nothing too impressive - the priest found his mind wandering back to the days when only the *best* rooms would be fit for the Gung-ho Guns. Back then, when he and Middie had been room mates, each night was a hunt through dimly lit lounges... They'd see who could pick up the best babe, win the most at poker, and if everything fell short they always had one another for company... The other Guns had been conversation pieces, only a few of them had been worth much of anything. Dominique, for one, had been fun to drink with and had often joined them in picking up dates... but most of the lot had been idiots, and Wolfwood and Midvalley had enjoyed taking advantage of them when the opportunity presented itself.  
  
**I wonder what Midvalley's been assigned to do...** Wolfwood furrowed his brow thoughtfully and reached for another cigarette. It wasn't like he really *missed* Midvalley...of course not, no. Nicholas D. Wolfwood was a grade-A womanizer.... Midvalley was just stress relief, a friend with fringe benefits. Of course.   
  
Then again -  
  
**No, no, I am absolutely *not* getting homesick for that hellhole, no matter how good in the sack that asshole was.**  
  
Wolfwood turned and marched to the window, letting his fingers loosely rest on the windowsill as a rustle of fabric informed him that Vash was divesting himself of his loose cotton clothes. The street below, concentrate on that-  
  
He watched silently as three men appeared on the sidewalk and walked down the street, wailing drunkenly at the top of their lungs. Another couple, a man and a woman with linked arms disappeared into a restaraunt, two little childern wearing ratty, torn clothing began rifling through the trash cans -   
  
Wolfwood frowned, flashed Vash a glance, and moved to the door. "Hey, tongari. I'll be back in just one second."  
  
"Mmmmkay, Wolfwood," Vash muttered, already half-asleep against his pillow, his lips parted against the soft cloth.  
  
Wolfwood immediately exited the room and made his way down the hallway of the hotel silently, avoiding the creaky boards as much as possible. When he stepped down the stairs into the partially carpeted lobby he moved to the doorway and unbolted the lock, letting himself out into the cool night air. It was late indeed, he and Vash had only made it just before the front desk was closing, and they had begged until a room was given to them.  
  
Out on the street he paused, searching the dusty road like any well-trained gunman would. Where were those two children? Wolfwood began walking under the stars, keeping one ear open at all times and allowing himself to reflect as he moved through the night.  
  
Darkness was...comfortable. As much as the light was necessary, sometimes Nicholas preferred the night, when he could slouch and smoke and spit and not be seen doing it. When his suit blended into the darkness and the crosses on his wrist cuffs were not quite visible he didn't feel like such a sinner... As if he could lose himself in the night.  
  
As if.  
  
There was a crash and an echoing spin down an alley to his left, and Wolfwood immediately pursued the noise, stepping gingerly around the garbage at his feet while narrowing his eyes to slits. One hand lingered before his chest - he had slipped on a harness over one shoulder earlier that day, though without his cross he felt quite defenseless.  
  
"Gebback!"  
  
Nicholas D. Wolfwood smiled as he recognized the tone as that of the expectedly frightened child, a cornered young thing who was terrified of fighting.... He had experience with such things, both first and secondhand. "Hey, hey. You're who I was looking for," he said softly with raised hands, moving to his left until the moonlight rendered the boy visible. Tufty blonde hair fell around narrow blue-green eyes as the child glared at Wolfwood, a small bag clutched in his hands and *something* pressed against the wall behind him.  
  
"GET BACK!" The boy cried, looking left and right, then lunching for a chunk of stone on the ground. As his palm closed around the weapon, Wolfwood's fingers caught his wrist, and the boy was left to struggle furiously against his capture. "NO! NO! LET ME GO! LET ME-"  
  
"Shh. Stop screaming, I'm not going to hurt you," Wolfwood promised softly, staring at the boy from beneath his dark bangs. The boy stared up at him through wide eyes, but didn't relax at all, especially not when Wolfwood pointed to a small mound on the ground - at first sight it looked like a pile of cloth, but with a second glance one could notice the terrified trembling that was simply the sign of a scared child. "Is that your sister?"  
  
The boy bit down hard on Wolfwood's hand and the priest dropped him, watching with an amused smile as the boy scrambled up to his feet and lifted his fists, dropping into an poorly executed fighting stance. "Get away! Kira, run, I'll hold him off!"  
  
"Hey, hey," the priest said softly, looking at the two with pity in his eyes. Had he ever looked like that to a kind stranger? He doubted it. Before he had been taken into training there had been few, few decent people in his life. Then again, he wasn't a whole lot better now.... Now he was the one taking advantage of others, instead of being the one crying by the victims. That was sometimes all one could home for... "Let me explain myself, okay, kid? What's your name?"  
  
No response, just a furious sounding growl.  
  
"I'm Nick. Short for Nicholas D. Wolfwood, and I'm a priest. Yanno, a man of the church?"  
  
"A...priest?" The boy blinked twice and relaxed slightly, but he didn't lower his fists. Wolfwood nodded encouragingly at the child and tried to look as harmless as possible. He had always been good with kids (especially rough ones, like this boy), and one thing he knew was that lying to them was close to impossible. You could skate around the truth all you liked, but if you lied, they would know it in a heartbeat. So he settled for his most relaxed pose and softened his voice, and launched into speech.  
  
"Yeah. See, I'm staying with a friend," Well, okay, not really friend, but- "...in the hotel over there, and I saw you and your sister out there in the garbage cans. So I thought I'd see if there was anything I could do to help-"  
  
"Liar!" This time it was the girl that spoke, her eyes hard and narrow from beneath the blanket-cloak she wore. "Nobody's that nice and you talk like a crook. Yer part of tha Ring, right? Go ta hell-"  
  
"Kira! If 'e IS a priest you'll get in trouble fer sayin' that," the boy scowled slightly, though his face softened as the girl stood and bounced behind him. Putting her hands on his waist and staring at Wolfwood from around the boy's form, her ratty hair falling into her eyes.  
  
"I know you're suspicious..." Wolfwood said softly, tilting his head and thinking quickly. He hadn't expected the girl to pick up on the accent he had aqquired over the years - even Vash didn't question the rough edge to his speech. "You see, I was once..."  
  
"Don't give us any sappy stories, we don' care!" The boy folded his arms defensively across his chest and puffed a bit, trying to look bigger than he was. "Now get outta here, we found this stuff first-" he gestured to the garbage cans.  
  
"Fine," Wolfwood nodded, smiling at the two children. He could remember well the inherent suspicion that was a part of living on the street - he had been a gutter child for long enough to become extremely familier with it. "But here," he added, dropping several double dollars into the dirt and trying to look meaningful, "take this and buy yourselves dinner. And please consider speaking with me again.... tomorrow night I'll be on the porch of the hotel. If you want dinner, come there."  
  
The children's eyes went wide as Wolfwood lowered his hands and walked on - the boy jerked out of the way as the priest passed him as if he had been burned. Wolfwood listened carefully as a small scuffle ensued over who would hold the doubledollars, then nodded with satisfaction and slipped back out into the street.  
  
On the way back he stepped into a store and purchased a dozen donuts with a thoughtful smirk. Perhaps he could make *three* children happy tonight.... "Look at me," Wolfwood muttered as he locked the door behind him, "I must be going soft."  
  
~~~~  
  
I don't want it but I can't stop myself  
One night I swore I'd die for you   
There's nothing else I'd rather die for  
But I'll try to live another night  
There's too much hate to be forgotten   
  
I don't want to believe in you - I can't believe in you   
I don't want to believe in you - I can't believe in you   
I don't want it, I don't need it  
I don't want it, I don't need it  
I don't want it, I don't need it  
I don't want it, I don't need it  
I don't want it, I don't need it  
I don't want it, I don't need it  
I don't want it, but I can't stop myself.  
~~~~  



	3. Sometimes I hate your reflection

  
~~~~  
I only see myself reflected in your eyes  
So all that I believe I am essentially are lies  
And everything I hoped to be or ever thought I was  
Died with your belief in me -  
So who the hell am I?  
[Shame - Stabbing Westward]  
~~~~  
  
It was familiar, every sensation, the fingers that probed across his chest were gentle and teasing all at once. Wolfwood cracked open one eye and groaned as he recognized his bedmate, flopping back into the pillows and muttering as he groped about on the nightstand for the clock he knew had to be there. "Hey, lemme up."  
  
"No way," the voice was a bit husky in his ears, and the other didn't move. "It's my turn on top."  
  
The priest grunted and placed a hand on each of his attacker's shoulders, shoving the other man down and flipping him on his back, straddling the horn player with quick ease. "Nuh-uh," Wolfwood whispered, suddenly very awake. "You gave it up last night and that forfeits it, so it's my turn again."  
  
Midvalley smirked and wriggled beneath him, making the priest catch his breath as a deeper level of contact was established. "Bullshit. Give it up, you get to play uke tonight-" With a groan, they flipped twice more and landed on the hard wooden floor, still groping and wrestling back and forth for control of the moment. After a string of muffled curses and a quick move on the part of the lighter man, Wolfwood found himself flat on his back, a grinning saxophone player's lips inches away from his own. "One... two... three..."  
  
The priest groaned and went limp, rolling his eyes as Midvalley continued to count in his ear. "Four...five...bingo! Mine for the evening!" Instantly there were hands on his chest flipping open the buttons of his white undershirt, smiling lips pressed against his neck...  
  
So once again, they could lose themselves like this...but.... "Hornfreak...."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
Wolfwood propped himself up on his elbows and stared at the man on top of him from beneath dark bangs. It would be better not to ask, wiser not to push this fragile balance into toppling, but some part of him simply had to press the issue. He wanted to know... how much he meant.... how much of the passion between them was simply for the sake of passion, and how much of it was deeper than that. "You ever gonna miss this?" he asked softly, raising a brow questioningly.  
  
The chocolate eyes of the musician blinked in surprise, and he sat back for a moment, regarding Wolfwood almost suspiciously and pausing in his exploration of the terrain beneath the soft white shirt. "Why do you ask?"  
  
Smirking, the priest nuzzled against the other's neck, breathing the words over heated skin as he worked at his partner's belt. "Because I think I'm getting attached to you."  
  
"That's a bad idea, Wolfwood."  
  
"Yeah." So what? Had either of them ever truly abided by the rules before? Why not give in and break them together-  
  
Wait.  
  
*Wolfwood?!* Midvalley never called him Wolfwood-  
  
"But the feeling's mutual. We're making things complicated...."  
  
"Screw the complications."   
  
The tall, Midvalley-but-not-Midvalley tucked the younger man's head up to his and meshed their mouths together none-too-gently, licking around the corners of the other's lips and demanding entrance into the sweetness. Smoke, cheap alcohol, mints from after dinner, himself. For a moment Wolfwood choked on his own surprise- the hair his fingers were tangled in was *blonde*...  
  
He squirmed upwards, slammed the other man onto his back with an audible crunch, and pinned his arms down. Aquamarine eyes looked back up at him innocently, a little smile perched on the bruised lips as Vash the Stampede grinned cheekily.  
  
"V...VASH?!" For some peculiar reason, the fact that his former lover had just transformed into something else entirely didn't seem quite so alarming. Wolfwood shrugged and fumbled with the buttons on a red coat that hadn't been there moments before, his fingers thick and clumsy in his desperation.  
  
"Wolfwood...hurry, please, Wolfwood-  
  
~  
  
-Wolfwood! Hey, Wolfwood, wake up!"  
  
The hazey warmth of the dream wasn't as quick to disappear as the priest would have hoped. In fact, when he opened his eyes and found Vash's questioning eyes staring into his face, concern written across his expression, the beating of his heart doubled up and the priest had to close his eyes and roll over, lest his situation become a bit more obvious.  
  
"Wooooolfwoooood?" Hands on his shoulder, startlingly warm, and Wolfwood sat up instantly, brushing the touch away as quickly as possible. "Oh! Are you okay? You sounded like you were having a nightmare..."  
  
**Yeah, some nightmare. It's definately a problem when you start dreaming about your bed-buddy and your target....** He cringed and set his head in his hands, letting his breath hiss free.  
  
Vash was still there beside the bed, lingering in confusion.  
  
"Ah, I'm fine. Yeah, a nightmare. Real scary," Wolfwood muttered as he massaged his temples and concentrated on anything possible that wouldn't further encourage his lingering feelings of lust... **What the hell was that? I didn't love Midvalley, and I don't want Vash...**  
  
Okay. So maybe that was a *little* untrue. Just a little.  
  
"Are you sure you're alright, Wolfwood? And if you are, can I have those donuts you left sitting on the table...?"  
  
Hmmm.... Vash must really be concerned if he had woken Wolfwood *before* embarking on a seek-and-destroy mission of all glazed pastries in the room. That fact made the priest look up and nod weakly, distracting himself by watching Vash's expression of utter delight as he whipped open the box and counted out the donuts, beaming as the total came to an acceptable number. "BANZAI!" The blonde cried, plunging into his breakfast with great enthusiasm. "You're the best, Wolfwood!"  
  
"Yeah. Sure." the priest cleared his throat and looked away. "I'm going back to bed."  
  
"Haaaai, haaaai!"  
  
~~~~  
I'm wandering 'round confused, wondering why I try  
The more that you deny my pain the more it intensifies  
I pray for someone to ache for me the way I ache for you  
If you ignore that I'm alive I have nothing to cling to  
I stare into this mirror so tired of this life  
If only you would speak to me or care if I'm alive  
Once I swore I would die for you but I never meant like this   
No, I never meant like this  
~~~~  
  
Wolfwood made a point of sitting out on the porch of the hotel that evening, smoking a cigarette while waiting for the children to show up. Vash accompanied him, speaking with cheerfullness about the *pretty* sunset and the possibility of donuts in the morning. And why did Wolfwood look so serious? Why were they staying in New Jersey another day? Didn't he know smoking was really bad for him?  
  
Finally the priest turned to Vash, blew a long stream of smoke into the other man's face, and grinned slightly as Vash coughed and choked on the dirty air. "Do you ever stop talking?"  
  
"Well, you weren't saying anything, so I figured I'd do the work for the two of us," Vash muttered, throwing his head back and staring at the sky.  
  
"I'd rather you said a few things and meant it then talked non-stop about nothing at all," Wolfwood told the blonde with a sharp look. Vash chuckled weakly and looked down at his hands. "What makes you think I was talking about nothing? The sunset is something... And I have a right to know why you've been brooding all day, don't you think?"  
  
The sunset *was* something. It painted the panes of Vash's face, coloring his hair and glittered off the sunglasses he wore perched on the bridge of his nose. Behind the tinted lenses his eyes were arched and almost feminine in their delicate lashes... the beauty mark accentuated that, making him look not only amazingly young...but rather.....pretty. "We're waiting for someone. Two someones, actually."  
  
"Who?" Vash asked cheerfully, resting his chin in one gloved palm and looking hopefully at Wolfwood. His *eyes* were asking the questions, not his lips... The priest could tell just by looking at him that Vash knew where he had gone the night before and wanted affirmation of their visitors.  
  
Wolfwood flinched and looked away, sucking in another long drag. That was another way Vash differed from Midvalley....Vash was pretty, delicate, seasoned but in the same way a famous picture grows in value with time. Midvalley was...rough. He tried to be refined in his clothing and speech, but when it came down to it Midvalley and Wolfwood had been cut of the same mold, though neither had admitted it. The hornfreak had been anything but feminine, and if Wolfwood ever snuck out, the musician would have demanded to know with who, why, and was there any action for him - not in that particular order. There were no delicate unasked questions to worry about with Midvalley...  
  
"Yeah, I ran into them last night and offered to take them out to dinner."  
  
"Charitable of you!"  
  
Okay. This *had* to stop. Ever since that damned dream, he had been comparing his former partner and the object of his mission in his head, noting how they varied in every little way - it was disturbing, and even worse because it was all in his subconscious.  
  
"VAAAAAAAAAASH!"  
  
Wolfwood and Vash turned as a small ball of ratty clothing hit the blonde square in the chest and sent him flying backwards- he slammed against Wolfwood and rolled down the steps, wailing as the overaffectoinate child locked her arms around his neck in a massive hug. "Vash-u! You really did come back!"  
  
"Ki...ra?" Wolfwood nearly dropped his cigarette in surprise as another body joined the first, and the children he had met the night before wrestled Vash to the ground. After another minute of limb-tangling and childish giggles, Vash pinned the two squirming bodies and studied them for a moment, a smile lighting across his face. "Kira! Kern!"  
  
"You remembered!" the boy seemed flabergasted and he flung his arms around Vash's neck. "How did you get away from the bounty hunters?"  
  
Vash beamed and sat back, oblivious of the 'what-the-hell-is-going-on-here' stare Wolfwood had slapped onto his back. "Oh, they chased me to the next city, but I lost them there in a dust storm. You two have gotten biiiig!"  
  
"Ah......."  
  
"Oh. Yeah! Wolfwood, this is Kern, and this is Kira," Vash gestured to each of the blonde twins in turn. "Guys, meet Nicholas D. Wolfwood, a friend of mine..."  
  
"Seeee!" Kern hissed into his sister's ear, while the girl's eyes widened slightly. "Told you he might really be a preist!"  
  
"Oh?!" Vash's voice was the very definition of innocence - that alone made Wolfwood narrow his eyes. Had the night before been planned, somehow? "You've met?!"  
  
"Yeah," the priest said gruffly, stamping out his cigarette and shoving his hands in his pockets. "We were waiting for these two, actually. Was gonna buy them dinner."  
  
"Great idea! You two up for it?"  
  
"YEAH! Yeah, c'mon, let's go someplace fancy!"  
  
It turned out that 'someplace fancy' was a lit-up bar with neon lights and decent buffalo wings. Wolfwood was silent until their food was delivered, watching Vash interact with the two children from beneath narrowed brows. Something about the situation stung as strange with him, and it made him look past the trusting lilt of Vash's voice...  
  
Had tongari somehow picked that hotel, that arriving time simply so Wolfwood would meet those children? That innocent look he had flashed before simply *reeked* of cover-up, even more than his usual smiles did. What for? **Maybe a test of some kind...maybe he wanted to know if I really love children as much as I said I do. But...Vash is a trusting person. Is he capable of somthing like that?  
  
It made Wolfwood nervous to think that his target was more suspicious than he had initially thought. Vash wasn't supposed to test people's hearts, he was supposed to blindly believe whatever he was told and be pulled into the trap without a second thought...   
  
The thing that scared the priest was that if it had been anything but children he would probably have failed the 'test'.  
  
When the food arrived, he paused in his eating to admire the way Vash kept the children animated and alive, but not out of control. While adding little bits into the conversation here and there, he was able to watch the blonde unsuspiciously, filing away what he noticed for future reference. Vash treated the kids.... just like he treated anyone else. Maybe that was what was so attractive about him... he didn't differentiate between people of different ages or backgrounds. He was just Vash, and they were just people to be seen and met and loved and lost, they weren't blacks or whites or children of sickly elders.  
  
It was refreshing. Wolfwood wondered if, when the shit hit the fan, he would still be Nicholas D. Wolfwood to Vash the Stampede, or if Vash would turn and call him Chapel to his face. As the four of them stepped out of the restaraunt and flagged down a man selling sweets on the side of the road, Wolfwood popped the question he had been leading up to all night. "Kira, Kern, I want to ask you something."  
  
"Hm?" Kern - he had to be the older, though Wolfwood didn't know for sure - looked up over the peak of his ice cream cone. "What is it?"  
  
"Have you ever heard of December?"  
  
"What, the city?" Kira had somehow managed to get smears of chocolate on her forehead - and with a smirk, Wolfwood noted that Vash had somehow managed to do the exact same thing. Along with that thought came a mental image that made Wolfwood blush and clear his throat before continuing.  
  
"Yes. I'm asking becauss that's where I'm from... I own an orphanage around there, a place that takes in kids like you who don't have a home..."  
  
Both children froze at that, and Wolfwood half-turned, shocked at the sheer fear and hatred that had suddenly blossomed across their faces. "You!" Kern stepped back, pulling his sibling with him. "You *are* from the Ring!"  
  
"What ring?" Vash piped in, though none of the three looked towards him.  
  
"They lure kids like us away an' they never return them, they're horrible men! You tricked Vash, didn't you? I knew you were a liar!"  
  
"Yer eyes are too close together," the girl growled, though neither loosened their grips on their respective ice cream cones.  
  
"Hey, hey, just because Wolfwood looks a little funny doesn't mean you should make fun of him," Vash lifted his hands gently, and his soft voice made both sides relax a bit. "I don't know what Ring you're talking about, but Wolfwood is my friend and I'd trust him with anything. You should too, okay?"  
  
"Ouch." Wolfwood muttered so softly that the others didn't look up.  
  
"......you sure he's safe?" Kern's eyes were narrow and suspicious, but he stood a little straighter and allowed his sister to peek around his shoulder. "I don't want to go to no home, Kira and me can take care of ourselves."  
  
"It's not a home," Wolfwood protested through gritted teeth. "It's a place where they'll give you food and a soft bed-"  
  
"And make us do bad things for money, and brand us just like they brand the others. Just like the Ring. You're a sneaky man, but we aren't so easily fooled." Kern's gaze trailed down to the food in his hand, then back up to Wolfwood's slightly hurt look. "Thanks for the sweets," he added, before the two turned and dashed down the street.  
  
"G'bye Mister Vash!" Kira called as they disappeared into the darkness.  
  
"It's okay, Wolfwood," the blonde consoled, placing a hand gently on the priest's shoulder. "Your intentions were good. Kids like that just don't like to be told what to do, that's all. There's a fine line between being a friend and being just another adult..."  
  
Wolfwood shook him off, stepping deliberately away from Vash and lighting up a cigarette, his fingers trembling as he inhaled a long breath of smoke. "Don't beat me at my own game, tongari. I know why they did that. I remember doing that. And look....look where I wound up..."  
  
When the priest began moving again, Vash let his hands drop to his sides and followed the man with a concerned gaze, biting his lip nervously. If Wolfwood had seen a look like that directed at his heart, he would have melted instantly, but he didn't turn around - instead Vash just silently followed him back to the room they shared, and each fell asleep without a simple goodnight.  
  
~~~~  
  
The next day was long, and though Wolfwood spent most of his time in the bedroom with a bottle of sake and three packs of cigarettes. Vash had stayed with him most of the morning, but by the afternoon the blonde confessed that he found that sort of behavior sickening, and left without a second thought.  
  
Wolfwood sat in the window, nursing the tail end of his cigarette, his eyes dark as he watched Vash outside. The outlaw had come across another group of children - they were involved in a game of cops and robbers, each boy wielded a sticky-dart gun and Vash had a bag of goodness-knows what hefted over one shoulder.  
  
It seemed ridiculous that the 'legendary gunman' would be the crazy sort that bought toys for strangers... it seemed foolish to think he wore anything but the most honest of expressions. "I trust him too much," Wolfwood scowled darkly. "I never trust anyone. So... why him?"  
  
What *was* it about Vash-?  
  
"Chapel."  
  
Nothing could have startled Wolfwood more - as he turned around and recognized the figure behind him, he didn't relax at all. ".....Hornfreak....."  
  
"How goes the mission?"  
  
Wolfwood swallowed and stood, flicking his dead cigarette away and grinning darkly at Midvalley. The saxophone player looked much as he remembered, only a great deal older - there were lines in his face that had not been there before, and he seemed thinner, though his suit effectively hid all other changes.... "What'd they do to you?" the priest asked, concern stabbing him in the back. "You look different."  
  
"Legato..."  
  
Oh. Legato often took his...stress out on members of the Gung-ho Guns, and Midvalley always seemed to be the one recieving the brunt of their leader's sexual frustrations. Wolfwood had endured a few times, but nothing like the constant wear and tear that was inflicted on the horn player. The priest had always shrugged it off - **Better him that me, after all...** - but seeing the long-term effects on his friend was distressing.  
  
"I'm....staying on track," Wolfwood muttered, lifting a fresh cigarette to his lips. Ah, the joys of nicotine... "He makes everything difficult by barging off in whatever direction his fancy takes him... Just like a little kid. Should we be meeting here? It might be bugged."  
  
"I doubt Vash is that bright," Midvalley shrugged off the concern. "Where's your next destination?"  
  
Wolfwood told him, and the horn player nodded with a small smirk of satisfaction before snatching the cigarette out of Wolfwood's mouth, taking a long drag, then handing it back. That made the priest blink - since when had Midvalley smoked? "Okay. That's fine. Oh, I have to go, it looks like he's uncovered our little...affair."  
  
"What? Hey, Hornfreak, what was *that* supposed to mean-?"  
  
Spinning on the heel of his shoe, Wolfwood looked out the window and his eyes widened slightly. Vash was clutching the girl from last night - Kira - in his arms, and the girl was hysterical.  
  
There was also a growing pool of blood beneath her.  
  
~~~~  
I don't know if I am real without you   
What is left of me without you  
I don't know what's real without you   
How can I exist without you?  
~~~~  
  
Stabbing Westward - Shame  



	4. Sometimes I love your lies

  
~~~~  
Oh here you are, there's nothing left to say  
You're not supposed to be that way  
Did they push you out? did they throw you away?  
  
Touch me now and I don't care   
When you take me I'm not there   
Almost human, but I'll never be the same  
[Long Way Down - Goo Goo Dolls]  
~~~~  
  
"TONGARI! What happened?!" The dark shadow of Nicholas' broad cross fell across Vash's face as the blonde cradled the fallen child in his lap, his face a mask of torn concern. The suns were raging overhead, and the heat alone was enough to drive most people indoors - the street was abandoned save for the dusty, bloody trio. Wolfwood wasn't sure what had happened to the girl, but as soon as Midvalley had left he had shouldered his weapon and dashed down the stairs to find Vash hugging Kira tightly, seemingly unable to move. "Is that Kira?"  
  
"Y-yeah," the blonde whispered, looking up at Wolfwood with terror in his wide eyes, his expressoin mirroring the young, injured girl's. Her tiny arms were folded tightly over her stomach, but there was too much blood for the extent of the damage to be seen. "She came up screaming that Kern was gone and...the ring? Wolfwood, she's going to d-"  
  
Flinching, the priest patted his shouldered cross (more to reassure himself than to make the man before him feel any better). Those innocent eyes made him nervous - the trusting way they seemed to believe that he alone could change anything... Just like the kids back home. "Look, Vash, get up," he cut the blonde off before he could panic the child further. "Take her to the nearest hospital, there's one three blocks that way - and hurry, she's losing blood!" Vash stood weakly with a nod, his pale face glimmering with tears. The sight of such brutal fear made Wolfwood's heart contract, and he narrowed his eyes slightly, pushing Vash in the right direction with an impersonal palm - he had to be careful when they touched, lest it distract him too much to effectively fight against this Ring, whatever it was.  
  
"Wolfwood?" God, Vash sounded adorable when he said his name like that, all breathy and questioning... "...where are you-?"  
  
"I'm going to find this Ring," the priest growled gruffly, "and take care of it." For a moment he considered leaving without another word, but then caught Vash's shoulder and spun him, lowering his own face down until he was level with the child. "Kira? Kira, can you hear me?"  
  
The girl's head lolled, making Wolfwood scowl deeply rather than display his concern. Long ago he had learned that anger would intimidate an enemy, but fear was a weakness that would always be exploited. A scowl was something nobody would question, and thus it had become his automatic response when things went wrong - in a way, it was just like Vash's smile. Something safe to hide behind when the world became a little too scary. "Kira!"  
  
"Ah..."  
  
"Good, good girl. Stay awake for Vash, okay Kira?" Wolfwood asked in his most honest, 'big-brother-Nick-wants-to-help-you-out' tone of voice. Not only did the girl turn to look at him, but Vash also looked at him in surprise, as if he couldn't believe such tenderness could enter his friend's voice. "Can you tell me where they took Kern? If you do I can go get him. Do you know where Kern is?"  
  
The child sobbed something hysterical and buried her face against Vash's trenchcoat, tiny fingers plucking loosely at the fabric. Wolfwood couldn't make out what she'd said, but Vash brushed his hand across her cheek gently, then looked up, a hint of determination returning to his eyes. "Warehouse district. A blue-roofed building?"  
  
The priest nodded and pressed his midnight sunglasses over his eyes, flashing Vash a curious gaze from behind the dark lenses. "Okay. Get her out of here."  
  
"Don't go in without me, Wolfwood," Vash called over one shoulder as he began sprinting for the nearest medical facility, though both knew that request would be ignored.  
  
Wolfwood paused a moment before turning the corner, then slipped his hand up the side of the cross on his shoulder and unwrapped his weapon.  
  
~~  
  
The warehouse was just that, a long, squat building with blue-gray slate tiles on the room, the gaping windows were cracked and shattered by previous gunfights. Wolfwood stared at the facade and frowned - "Gotta find another way in," he muttered and began creeping around to the side. How many times had he done this, broken into a shabby building - or worse, how many times had he been on the other side, selling his soul for the innocent children he saw twice a year at best?  
  
There! Midway on the left he found a small door for deliveries, and tried the handle- locked, of course. Wolfwood pulled out a small pistol and shot through the metal twice, then tried the door again.  
  
Inside the air was rank and sticky, smelling of sweaty bodies and stale bread, opressive. Wolfwood hacked a few moments, trying to ease his breathing before continuing, glaring around himself suspiciously into the darkened corners of the hallway he had entered. He wasn't really sure what he was going to find there - other than the boy Kern, how many children had this 'Ring' picked up, and what were their intentions? Wolfwood ran through possibilities in his mind - child slavery rings an uncommon but very real problem in the larger cities on Gunsmoke. Little Jersey, however, was not *that* large... It could be a drug ring of some sort, but that would hardly require children to support....  
  
Voices echoed through the corridor to his left, Wolfwood hunkered down behind a stack of crates, his Cross Punisher digging painfully into his ribs as he shifted positions, listening silently.  
  
"I don't think he can get that much for such a small one..."  
  
"It's none of our concern, if his asking price is too high, then..."  
  
The priest sighed as the two passed him, making note of the conversation. It sounded just like a slavery ring, bidding young things off to the highest paying customer... The thought made him wince. Another unpleasant childhood nightmare could be eradicated by bringing this ring to light... **If that's what they're doing, the kids will be held somewhere near the middle. I need to take out as much of the oppositions as possible or Vash will show up and ruin my chances...**  
  
With a growl he burst from behind the crates he had been using as a shield, taking out the two men in the hallway with a grim smirk. The shots seemed unnaturally loud in the heavy air, and Wolfwood immediately began moving again, knowing his only chance in survival was to pick them off one by one while not allowing himself to be cornered. If it came down to a firefight, the enemy would undoubtedly have the advantages of both numbers and ammo...  
  
Turning a corner, he shouldered his cross and reloaded one of his hand held pistols, gritting the bullets in his teeth as he slipped them into the weapon. "Here we go," the priest muttered, dive-rolling into the next corridor.  
  
There was one gaurd who didn't even look up as Wolfwood entered, and the priest took him down with a swift shot through the head, painless and without honor. "Sorry," he whispered softly, brushing past the young man with a sigh, "but not all of us can die a hero's death." Scowling at his own sentimentalism, Nicholas ran thick fingers through the man's coat, fishing out what seemed to be an ID tag and reading down the information. There was nothing that clued him in on the name of the Ring or anyone involved, so he tossed the card aside and burst in through the door the gaurd had been standing at -  
  
Damn. Wolfwood's eyes widened slightly as he took in long strings of tables and about thirty surprised bodies, all the faces in what could only be the mess hall turning and staring at him. "SHIIIIIIIIIIT!" the priest cried, hauling his cross over his shoulder and opening fire on the crowd.  
  
It was quick, and after emptying his cross and reloading once, he shot a single shell into the smoky clouds of debris for good measure and got the hell out of there, alarms clanging in his wake as the whole area was alerted of his break-in. **Shit, shit, shit,** the dark-haired man scowled as he pelted down the hall, skidding roughly and whipping around another corner, **Of all the rooms in the building I had to break into the cafeteria! Why the hell were they gaurding that?!**  
  
Things were getting darker now, the lights were flickering here and there and the air was even more stale, if such a thing was possible. Wolfwood began checking through doors, ducking down and hiding when swarms of men passed him by in search of the intruder. Most of the areas had chains welded to the walls or were storage rooms of some sort - the priest helped himself to extra ammo before continuing his search.  
  
"There he is!"  
  
Wolfwood gritted his teeth and spun around, facing off with three young men bearing long-nosed shotguns. The first began firing with a loud crack-and-hiss of shot piling against wood and metal. The priest ducked and spun to one side, cocking his gun and firing over one shoulder with gritted teeth, bracing himself against the onslaught of bruising kick-back and stinking smoke. A cloud of smoke rose up as his shell missed, and Wolfwood took the opportunity of distraction to jump in and club the three with his massive metal weapon. They crumpled at his feet and he punctuated his attack with three life-ending shots, smiling in satisfaction as the blood leaked out around his boots in a pooling red puddle.  
  
Was he killing just because Vash would hate it? Part of Wolfwood guessed so - he didn't normally take so much pleasure in destroying the lives of another, and Vash's selfless morals made Wolfwood want to buck free and defy those damned sad eyes. Anything to snap tongari's shell open, even anger or hatred would be preferable to that false, emotionless smile. A taste of a true feeling, not a fake front...   
  
Another half of his mind told him he was enjoying this simply because of his past, and what had been done to him. Because he liked the smell of gunsmoke, because revenge was sweet and pleasing... He shoved that half aside, disliking it as much as he understood it.  
  
And then a bullet caught him in the bicep in his moment of distraction, and Wolfwood groaned, turning to see several gun barrels pointed at his forehead.   
  
"Shit..." Slowly the priest dropped his two pistols and began lowering his cross, raising one free hand in a sign of surrender. For a moment he thought that was it - that was the end - then -   
  
The explosion caught him completely off-gaurd and flung his injured body back against the wall with a sickening thunk. Wolfwood instantly recognized the following swirl and flourish of endless music, a sudden grin spreading across his face as he righted himself amongst the rain of falling plaster. There was only one saxophone player who could pull of a damned fancy turn-and-glis while sounding sarcastic and deadly all at once-  
  
Several walls around him had been knocked out as well as a portion of the roof, though all of the gaping holes were filled with a foggy, dark smoke that made gauging his enemies whereabouts impossible. Wolfwood turned, half-expecting Midvalley to appear out of the haze and join him.  
  
A bullet whizzed past his ear, making the priest jump and spin as wreckage crashed down somewhere to his left. Where *where* they, damn it? He whipped off his sunglasses and stared hard, trying to discern shadow phantoms from real attackers - was that one? He fired a few shots, but was greeted with the bouncing clangs of metal hitting metal.  
  
Dadum. Dadum. Heart pounding, the priest raised his gun a bit higher in his own defense - and when something hit him from behind, slamming and rolling him across the ground in a flash of red, all Wolfwood could think was that he'd finally been taken down. Something sharp struck him in the back of the skull and soft hands caught his suit as the world turned from gray to fuzzy-red to black all in the course of a heartbeat, and the priest passed out against the floor.  
  
~~~~  
Long way down, I don't think I'll make it on my own   
Long way down, I don't want to live in here alone   
Long way down, I don't think I'll make it on my own  
I never put you down, I never pushed you away  
You're not supposed to be that way   
And anything you want, there's nothing I could say  
  
Is there anything to feel?   
Is it pain that makes you real?   
Cut me off before it kills me  
~~~~  
  
Gunfire. Hazy and far-away, though something was pounding in his head, going off right by his right ear. And there was a gold metal object across his ankles - probably the cross punisher, he guessed. Wolfwood took a deep breath and promptly choked on the dust coating his suit -   
  
"Oh, you're awake? About time."  
  
That voice...it wasn't Midvalley's. For some reason, Wolfwood had been expecting to see the musician, not the blonde gunman that was currently stradling his waist. He had expected eyes the dark brown of laquered mahogany and a proud smirk, not gentle, cool aquamarine that enveloped him like a soft breeze. H coughed twice and tried to get his bearings - the fight must have reached a stalemight while he had been asleep, that was the only explanation... Blinking the dirt from his dark lashes, Wolfwood groped around in his coat and fished out a cigarette, pressing it between his lips and fumbling for a light. Three attempts were made at the pockets of his suit, and all came up empty - "Lost my fuckin' matches," the priest growled in the way of a greeting.  
  
"Sorry about that. Your head hurt?" A round of gunfire, and then the soft question, Vash's tone cooly casual despite the situation, almost...cold? Angry? Wolfwood shifted his weight and groaned again, from both the shattering pain in his head and the sudden awareness of Vash's warm body sprawled across him. With a sigh, the priest shifted and tried to look up, merely earning himself a clear view of Vash's pale chin and warm neck inches away from his nose. They were so close he could practically see the fluttering pulse beneath the skin, could hear the gentle rustle of fabric as the other panted in the dusty air.  
  
Something wet hit his cheek. "Vash?" the priest asked shakily, lifting his fingers and wiping it away, staring when it proved to be a droplet of blood. "Vash, are you alright?"  
  
The blonde ducked, bullets whizzing over his head and embedding themselves in the wall behind him with several thin cracks. For a moment his upturned nose was mashed against Wolfwood's neck, his breathing hot against the other's skin, then he pulled back and looked Wolfwood in the eye. All down each of his cheeks were smears of crimson, salty stains that were garish on his pale peach-flesh... As unsightly as his scars.  
  
Vash was *crying blood*.  
  
And Wolfwood, with a sense of crushing shock, realized why. He had been so proud, so confident as he burst into the building and extinguished each life he came across... Vash must have followed him, passing each and every kill, stopping and touching the throat with trembling hands, waiting just long enough for the scanty pulse to prove itself gone, then moving onwards, wearing that damned look of desperation and tucking his coat tighter around his body...  
  
The blonde gunman turned away, obviously unwilling to speak as he lifted his left arm and fired another round out of his second gun. Wolfwood's voice caught in his throat for a moment, the firefight forgotton, the tense, warm weight of flesh on his thighs pushed aside as he swore at his faults, for his mistake. For being himself. For everything.  
  
**He's....because of me, he's...**   
  
"You didn't need to." The voice was hurt, betrayed, as empty as the smile Wolfwood had picked apart the moment they first met.  
  
"I know. I knew. I just..."  
  
"You didn't need to, and you-" the blonde ducked again, pressing his red-clad body tightly against Wolfwood's side- the priest had to shift a bit to make sure certain portions of his anatomy didn't ruin the closeness of the moment. "-don't have the right to decide who lives and who dies. You believe in God, leave that up to him."  
  
Wolfwood closed his eyes and inhaled the soft scent of Vash's golden hair, heady even beneath the overlaying taste of smoke and gunpowder. It was so difficult to put this adoring hate into words that wouldn't push him further away than necessary, but Wolfwood tried, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth as he battled for an answer... "I'm not like you. You're....good. You're perfect. How can you expect others to swallow you fractured logic, tongari-?"  
  
The blonde's lips parted gently, and he whispered softly. "Don't call me that."  
  
Wolfwood reached out and ran a thumb along Vash's cheekbone in something that was almost an apology and almost a caress, their noses only inches apart as their breaths mingled in the sticky, hot air. Closer, then, as he wiped the blood away gently and lifted his fingers to his lips, tasting the stuff - then licking it away. Taking it in. A tiny, salty portion of Vash's perfection that would have to last until he could figure out a way to take him in more completely.  
  
Vash stared at the priest, saying nothing, while his eyes asked a thousand confused questions. Why? I thought we were friends? How could you? Why can't you understand me? "I can't say I'm sorry, Vash. I think they deserved it. But right now there are children to save...and I won't do it again, not where you can see it." A thin promise at best, but evidently enough to make Vash turn and shift again, standing slightly and reloading his silver sharpshooter. "....please.... Vash."  
  
One second passed, then two, and aquamarine eyes tinged with blood softened and looked away, the mask slipping back into place even as Wolfwood watched.   
  
"Get your weapon," Vash whispered, "We're going to have to haul ass from here on out."  
  
  
~~~~  
Long way down, I don't think I'll make it on my own   
Long way down, I don't want to live in here alone   
Long way down, I don't think I'll make it on my own  
I never put you down, I never pushed you away  
Take another piece of me   
Give my mind a new disease   
And the black and white world never fades to gray  
Long way down, I don't think I'll make it on my own   
Long way down, I don't want to live in here alone   
Long way down, I don't think I'll make it on my own  
~~~~  



	5. Sometimes.... I just...

~~~~  
Life is bigger  
It's bigger than you  
And you are not me  
The lengths that I will go to  
The distance in your eyes  
Oh no I've said too much  
I set it up  
  
That's me in the corner  
That's me in the spotlight  
Losing my religion  
Trying to keep up with you  
And I don't know if I can do it  
Oh no I've said too much  
I haven't said enough  
I thought that I heard you laughing  
I thought that I heard you sing  
I think I thought I saw you try  
[Losing my Religion - R.E.M.]  
~~~~  
  
"Thank you, sir!" Vash lifted a hand and waved sheepishly, a light blush crossing his nose as he promptly refused the compliments being showered down on his actions. "But that's really not necessary..."  
  
"IDIOT! He's offering you a bag of double dollars! Why the *hell* are you turning it down?!" Wolfwood slammed a hand down on the desk before him, nearly choking on his own surprise as Vash blinked innocently at him over the orange rims of his glasses. They had finally vanquished the warehouse of thieves, and the priest's guess had been correct - a child slavery ring had chosen New Jersey for a stop-over station, where 'goods', or in this case, children, could be transferred from one mode of transportation to another. The police had known something was going on, but not where it was occuring or even what it was - and when Vash and Wolfwood entered the building announcing that they had brought in twenty-plus unconscious criminals, they had been greeted with awed looks and the astounding announcement that there had been a bounty on almost every member of the ring. Half of the reward had been withheld for repairs - Vash had managed to destroy almost the entire warehouse district before he considered his job complete, and the expenses for rebuilding were phenominal (as they always were when the Stampede was involved).  
  
"Well, it's an awful lot to carry - " Wolfwood growled darkly at Vash and snatched the bag of money away from the policeman, a sweatdrop slipping down the back of his neck. Did Vash have to be so damned thoughtful all of the time?! "Do you have any idea how many donuts this would buy?!"  
  
"....donuts?" In a moment Vash had reached into the sac and was merrily prancing out into the town's square, seeking a pastry stand while waving fistfulls of money. From the looks others were giving him, Wolfwood judged it would take about ten minutes for his spikey-headed friend to get robbed blind and beat up in a back alley.  
  
"He's not... normal, is he?" the policeman turned to Wolfwood and raised a questioning eyebrow, a slight smile on his face.  
  
"Nope. A couple a cards short of a pack, if you know what I mean. But he's a good guy and a great fighter.... just a little rough around the edges."  
  
"You know," the policeman turned thoughtfully, watching in silence for a moment as the red-clad outlaw paraded across the square and . "I don't believe he gave us his name."  
  
Vash whipped his donuts into his lap as he flopped down on the steps of the police department's building, a broad smile on his face as he pried open the box. Kira, Kern, and several other children that had been rescued during the raid immediately honed in on the gullible blonde. Wolfwood smiled slightly as Vash protested sharing, then gave in with a weak huff and the donuts were passed all around, filling bellies that had far too long been empty. "His name's not so important, is it?"  
  
Vash the Stampede, hated by those who had never seen his face, feared by all, loved by few, a man who bore the pain of a century of hardship behind a brilliant, blinding smile. Wolfwood wasn't quite sure what fascinated him so about the blonde, but something about him kept dragging the priest's mind back, pulling at his heartstrings and manipulating emotions he hadn't thought he had. It wasn't that he was surprised someone could survive while living a lie.... He had seen that before, he was doing it himself and so far the only difficulties arose when his emotions came into play. It wasn't the fantastic history of the man - because though it was undoubtedly the longest, strangest story he had ever heard, it was not something he could base these dark emotions off of.  
  
It was just....Vash. As a combination of things he was completely unique, completely adrift within a philosophy that applied only to himself. With hair the color of sand at noon and eyes a mythical hue that was never found in nature, the man himself was a picture out of a storybook, clad all in red and black and his own fantastic legend. Whether dressed to the nines or smiling weakly in a white shirt that displayed more than a few of his gaping scars, there was something that hung about the man like an aura, something that Nicholas longed to reach out and...touch.  
  
He was innocent. He was ancient. He was....  
  
Closing his eyes, Wolfwood tried to focus on anything but the harmless man on the steps outside. The coarse wood of the window frame that splintered beneath his fingertips, the rough burlap that held the reward Vash had absently handed him, the sound of the policeman shuffling through his desk, nervous and tense, sensing that the priest was brooding long and hard about something critically important. And past all of those outer sensations, he tried to ease his mind by promising it was a passing obsession. It was an extreme sort of crush, the lack of hero-worship in his childhood combined with having been seperated from his partner... a mental thing. Part of being around the other man twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. That was all.  
  
That was...all.  
  
Nodding to the officer and striding outside, Wolfwood shoo-ed the children into the station. "C'mon, you all need to go eat something healthy, not like this spikey-headed lug. The nice officers are preparing dinner for you, leave Vash in peace!"  
  
Vash glanced up at Wolfwood over the rim of his glasses, his expression tolerant and slightly amused by the attention. Past that mask, Wolfwood could read something in his eyes that resembled resent - but more than that, disappointment. It stung with surprising precision in Wolfwood's heart, and the priest had to whip out a cigarette and suck in the smoke before his throat would relax and allow him to speak. **When the hell did his eyes start affecting me so much?** "I'm....going for a walk."  
  
He moved on, not waiting for a response from the blonde, shoving his hands deep in his pocket and letting his cross bounce against his thighs as he moved through the dustily filthy streets. Activity always picked up once the shadows began lengthening, and to his surprise Wolfwood found himself soon wading through a crowd of shoppers and salesmen, the familiar, everyday sounds of live in motion filling his ears. Why couldn't he just be a part of all this like he had once been? Nicholas had, at some point, been the bearer of grubby fingers that crept over the side of the carts and snatched an apple while the dealer was engaged in other pursuits. He had been the street rat pushed aside by richer clients, he had spent chilly evenings wrapped in a cardboard box...  
  
There was no way he could integrate, now, the blood on his hands was pushing him away from these people that he so longed to protect. When he had been found and trained as a boy, he had been conditioned to think of himself as being outside the race, outside the everyday hustle and bustle of moving beings - one could not kill if one thought of one's enemies as human beings with families, lovers and hearts. And so young Nicholas had not been taught that, had not been granted a tutor in the world of empathy or concern...  
  
Wolfwood scuffled against the dirt and breathed out a cloud of smoke, turning a corner and narrowly missing being run down by several young children, girls with bobbing pigtails, a little too eager to visit the next cart of wares. A quick 'excuse me!' and they were gone, gone as surely as the child he had once been was gone-  
  
Vash. A child, yet not a child, with a darker history than Nicholas cared to imagine, a history that he would erase was he given the change. He had a face that stirred something protective within Wolfwood, in the same way the little kids in December always had - an urge to do anything he could to bring a smile to those full lips. At the same time, though, there was a burning sensation of almost-hatred - because it wasn't fair that Vash could live forever, Vash could never kill, Vash could be so pure, Vash could be so selfless, such a martyr in everything he did. It *wasn't* fair, because nobody should be, could be so perfect - it made the priest want to scream, or cry, or throw something and shatter that perfection into a thousand shards that could be crunched to dust underfoot.  
  
Admiration. Jealousy. Adoration. A twisted sense of posession that had no basis in anything and made Wolfwood think he was absolutely crazy.... **Vash is prey. Vash is prey. Vash is not beautiful, is not wonderful - **  
  
There were so many reasons he couldn't give in that it wasn't even amusing to consider the possibility of actually getting what he wanted. Wolfwood knew that if his will broke -   
  
Vash was undoubtedly straight. If Wolfwood ever tried anything he would be pushed away gently with an impersonal palm, apologized to, turned down. And then when they travelled everything would be different, the sense of friendship would die along with his hopes for anything more...  
  
persuasion  
  
Anything more. Love? No. No. NO. Nicholas D. Wolfwood did *not* fall in love with *anyone*. Not Midvalley, not Vash, not the big-breasted women that flocked in the corners of smokey, hazey bars, not the disgustingly beautiful telepath that was handing orders out left and right. A killer/murderer/priest/child lover had no buisness getting involved with someone who could be hurt, honestly hurt.   
  
Today, Wolfwood had learned that hurting Vash was the last thing he wanted to do. That look he had been given, aquamarine eyes softening and filling with tears, the smudge of blood on cream-pale cheeks had slicing something open inside of him, letting loose waves of new emotions that threatened to drown the dark-haired man. Nicholas didn't understand, and that...scared him, a little. That was the last addictive facet to his emotions, the danger involved, the heady burn of new sensations in his heart that told him he wouldn't survive this, and welcomed the pain all the same.  
  
Besides, he didn't love Vash. He just wanted him, right? Wanted to run his hands through soft blonde hair and press himself tightly against warm, puckered flesh. He wanted to kiss down the tracing scars and map out the skin of another completely, until he knew every tear and rent intimately. He wanted -   
  
_No_.  
  
Then, of course, there was Knives. Legato. Both would hate him far more than anyone else on the face of the planet, and when he was discovered and called to return, nothing but death would await. Most likely a painful, excruciating demise that left Wolfwood feeling ill to his stomach... Knives had been waiting as long as Vash had been running. Too long to feel pity, exceptions, anything but twisted obsession....  
  
"Idiot," Wolfwood bit his lip, hard enough for blood to bead up on the inside of his mouth. "I'm a fucking idiot."  
  
"I've been telling you that for years."  
  
Immediately turning, Wolfwood gritted his teeth and nodded a greeting to Midvalley the Hornfreak, who was standing behind him, a long brown saxophone case in one hand. The other man raised a brow, then politely dusted a bit of invisible dirt from the cuff of his ivory sleeve while the priest regained his composure and inhaled a round of smoke. "Hornfreak."  
  
"Chapel." The name made Wolfwood flinch, though he had heard it a thousand times before. It hurt because it was the him he was desperately hiding from Vash, it was the 'Wolfwood' he was ashamed of.  
  
"Back there...." Wolfwood coughed once into his hand, and looked away. "I mean, thanks. Vash didn't..."  
  
Midvalley flashed his partner an odd look that asked too many questions for Wolfwood to comprehend, then nodded sharply. "No, he didn't see me." A moment passed, the two of them on the sidewalk, talking in hushed voices in the shadow of a three story apartment complex. Just them, alone in the crowd of milling faces, of targerts. "Why so jumpy? It's not like you."  
  
Wolfwood dragged his eyes away from the chocolate pools before him and shook his head, seeking an answer. "I... I don't know."  
  
"Vash?"  
  
"Why do you ask?!" the response was a bit too sharp, and Wolfwood immediately regretted his tone of voice. Midvalley's lips quirked and he joined his partner's gaze, seeking distraction elsewhere as if the topic was a bit too painful for eye contact to be maintained.  
  
"Keep your head on straight, Wolfwood. I've been watching for a while - for Master Legato and all - and you've been acting really strangely. Someone might notice - well, someone who would do something about it."  
  
*Master* Legato? Wolfwood turned his head and stared hard at Midvalley, shocked at the title. Midvalley had, for as long as he could remember, *hated* Legato with a bitter fury borne of countless hours of rape and abuse, of mental and physical submission... To honor such a man with a title - "Midvalley-"  
  
"Let's hit a bar."  
  
They did, but the conversation had stalled by the time they found one and the two sat in a low booth, nursing alcohol with grim features and soft sighs. "You said someone might notice, but I don't understand. What do you *think* is happening to me, Midvalley?"  
  
"I can see...my partner......falling short of himself. I can see something changing," the musician paused and sipped his drink, staring at Wolfwood's dying cigarette through dark bangs. "Something's happening to him and I don't understand it, and it makes me...." Wolfwood caught his breath at the hesitation in the tone. "It makes me worry about him."  
  
"You're crazy. I'm still Wolfwood - Chapel - and nothing's changed about anything. I reel Vash in, Knives does whatever the hell he wants to the guy, not my problem. My kids are safe, I retire gracefully, and you do whatever you want. You think I could go soft so quickly? I'm ashamed!" The priest downed his glass in one gulp and slammed it down, grinding his cigarette butt into the burnt ashtray at the edge of the table.  
  
"I didn't say you were going soft," the musician grumbled, glaring at the priest as his words were misinterperated. "I think you're... Hell. Forget it. Look, Chapel, I don't know what you think you're doing, but the stakes are too fuckin' high for games like these."  
  
"I don't play games, you know that." Wolfwood stood, flipping a few double dollars down on the table and reaching for his cross. "I'll get your tab."  
  
Midvalley sighed, standing as well and pressing his hands across his pastel suit, smoothing out the folds and wrinkles before looking up again. Wolfwood watched from beneath furrowed brows, the motions of his partner's hands as familiar to him as his purpose, and when the hand lifted to brush soft bangs out of mahogony eyes, the priest looked away, almost embarrassed. It wasn't right to know someone that well, it felt like-  
  
**NO.** It felt like he was somehow betraying Vash by looking at another man, now. Or was it betraying Midvalley, who had always covered his back in the tightest of spots, and then some? **NO. There's nothing. I feel nothing. I am a Gung-ho Gun.**  
  
"Want to go a round?" The musician asked at last as they paused at the doorway, his tone implying a round of anything but drinks. Wolfwood stepped back in surprise as lips pressed against his own, quick and seeking and arousingly hot - when they couldn't find what they wanted, they withdrew and left him there, shaking slightly in the smokey air. "No? Fine."  
  
Wolfwood checked the straps on his cross, not meeting the other's eyes as he pushed the opportunity away. "It would...be better if I didn't."  
  
"I understand."  
  
"No, you don't."  
  
"Neither do you."  
  
"Touché."  
  
They moved out onto the porch, beneath the swaying lights that attracted a thousand swarming, whirling winged creatures. "Chapel.....good luck. Don't be a fool."  
  
"Might as well ask me to not be myself, Midvalley."  
  
"Don't be yourself. Yourself was damned from the very start..." Lifting his saxophone case, Midvalley gave a mocking half-bow and turned smartly on one heel. "And don't expect me to haul your ass out of the fire again!"  
  
"I won't," Wolfwood gritted his teeth. "I sure as hell won't."  
  
~~~~  
Every whisper  
Of every waking hour I'm  
Choosing my confessions  
Trying to keep an eye on you  
Like a hurt lost and blinded fool  
Oh no I've said too much  
I set it up  
~~~~~  
  
It was dark by the time he dragged himself back to the station, drunk as hell and bearing a grudge against all things blonde. Where crowds had once loitered, none remained but a few individuals here and there, and those flashed Wolfwood dark looks who's intentions were painfully clear. The priest pulled his way back towards the hotel - all he wanted was a nice, soft bed and perhaps a cold shower...  
  
With Vash there, the shower would definately be a necessity.  
  
An echoing shout distracted him from his painful thoughts, and Wolfwood's brows narrowed in response. In the alley to his left he could hear the sounds of a scuffle, fabric tearing and the clattering of a knife across the bricks... They were common sounds of the streets at night, and while normally would have ignored them - no use getting involved with something that was none of his buisness - the alcohol on his breath and a little something in his heart told him that he ought to at least see what was happening. Without thinking, the priest rounded the corner and paused in the entrance to the dark cleft between buildings, one hand instantly pulling a gun free from the folds of his suit.  
  
Blonde hair, gritted teeth, a target that wasn't fighting back though he was more than capable of it, filthy, grubby hands -   
  
It was Vash, of course, who was pinned to the wall by a larger man, who was spitting out swears as he fished through the massive red coat for the money that *had* to be there. Some part of Wolfwood had expected to find the man here, but he still blinked in surprise when Vash's eyes met his and filled with guilt -  
  
Those attackers were touching Vash entirely too much for Wolfwood to allow.  
  
He fired three times with almost unconcious speed, hitting two targets in the shoulder and scaring the last away - they retreated, showering him with curses that made his ears ring. Had he been sober, Wolfwood would have known what to say (or been less surprised by his own drunken accuracy), but the alcohol on his breath alerted Vash to his condition, and instead of supporting the blonde on their way back to the hotel room, Wolfwood found an arm around his waist as Vash carried *him* back.  
  
"Vash...." Cool skin next to him, seperated by a few layers of clothing... "You okay?"   
  
"Yeah. Sure, nothing I couldn't take care of. But...thanks."  
  
Wolfwood groaned softly in response and shoved himself closer to to the blonde, who squeaked slightly (he made the most amusing noises!) but didn't sag beneath the weight. The two wandered through the dark streets, weaving closer and closer to the hotel, while Wolfwood threw an arm around Vash's neck and used his alcohol-heavy breath as an excuse to touch the blonde. By the time they reached the hotel, both men were breathing heavily - Vash panting from the weight on his shoulders, and Wolfwood's breath hissing through his teeth as he tried to ignore the closeness of their bodies.  
  
"I shouldn't have flashed that money around, they must have seen it this afternoon and waiting until it was dark to attack. I'm sorry about this, Wolfwood." Vash juggled his room key and the unstable priest in his arms, fiddling with the lock on the door. At last it popped open and he shoved Wolfwood inside, sending the priest staggering towards the nearest bed with a none-too-gentle push.  
  
"Oooof." Wolfwood grunted, throwing off his cross and flopping down into the cool, welcoming sheets while his weapon of choice slammed against the ground with a rattling clunk. He closed his eyes for a moment and fiddled with the buttons on his jacket, though his fingers didn't seem to want to obey his mind and he gave up when merely half were undone. "Damned long day, huh?" Wolfwood's voice sounded foreign in his own ears, husky with smoke, alcohol and repressed emotions - he immediately told himself to stop talking, lest something important slip free. "Damned long. Damned."  
  
"Yeah, and we both worked really hard." Vash muttered over one shoulder in a tone that simply reeked of disdainful annoyance - something that was very un-Vash-like in itself. Wolfwood lay for a few moments, watching as the other man cleaned his gun, then stood and began to get ready for bed. The alcohol muddling the preist's mind made contemplating any sort of response impossible, so he just laid back, uncomfortable in the pressing silence of the room. The blonde didn't even turn around as he began unbuttoning the top of his coat with nimble fingers, his back to Wolfwood on the mattress.... "Now go to sleep. You're a really unpleasant drunk."  
  
Vash's voice was like his eyes - not quite condemming, but very displeased with the general situation. Wolfwood hated that tone of voice immediately, but said nothing, instead simply devoured the shadows that played across Vash's leather undersuit as the red coat slunk to the floor with a soft swish. After all, he could never make Vash happy, so he might as well admire the bone fate and it's ironic sense of humor had thrown his way.  
  
The leather beneath peeled away almost painfully slowly, rustling and clinking as buckles and zippers fell open to Vash's slow motions, dancing in shadows that appeared and disappeared as he moved, framed by the lights mounted by the dresser. Wolfwood had to gulp back an appreciative sigh as the hip-hugging material slipped down past Vash's tailbone, revealing puckered, twisted flesh that simply begged to be touched - to kiss every inch of those marks, to love each little indentation...  
  
Fine shoulderblades and a proud, straight spine - had his back been devoid of gashes, Vash would have been undeniably attractive to those of any calling as he reached up and ran his hands through his hair, pulling the locks down from perfect spikes to a floppy, tired mass. Human. Wolfwood himself found the scars to be an addictive display - they were the only sign of imperfection marring Vash's body, name and mind. They were the one thing that made him *human,* that let him fall just short of complete and utter perfection, though it was still more than easy for Wolfwood to imagine the purest of God's angels standing before him, instead of a simple gunman...  
  
And then the view was gone as the blonde man pulled a night shirt down over his head and the show was over. Wolfwood let his eyes sag shut and he silently listened to the sounds Vash made as he move around the room, trying to imagine the blonde's physical appearance as easily as he could imagine Midvalley's. With his partner in crime, every subtle habit had been obvious and predictable - with Vash, Wolfwood wasn't sure where he would move, what order he did things...  
  
He was new. Different. The priest listened as Vash drank and prepared for bed - unable to sleep while the blonde was moving around. At last one of the lights went off, leaving only a tiny beacon in one corner of the room, and Wolfwood sighed, willing his mind to relax into sleep.  
  
That was when something - someone - Vash - settled on the bed next to him, making the springs creak softly as they gave way. Nick froze, tightening his fingers against the sheets but not moving a muscle, lest he scare the other away. After a thoughtful moment he felt the gunman's weight shift, and there was a cool hand pressed across his forehead, brushing his bangs back thoughtfully, almost lovingly. Much like a parent would sweep the forehead of an injured child, with fingertips betraying more than they should. That touch, to soft and sweet, moved slightly and hovered at his temple, then slid down the side of his face and rested for a moment at the corner of his mouth, like frigid fire against his skin.  
  
Was Vash smiling as he felt his way across Wolfwood's face? Crying, laughing at him, mocking him for his own ideals in the same way the priest often laughed at Vash....? There had to be some sort of motive for the gentle touch that bordered on a caress, and Wolfwood had to know it or he would never be able to get the feeling out of his head. It would creep into his dreams at night and devour his soul from the inside out, the memory of this touch would... However, when he opened his blue eyes, he couldn't quite focus them - and whatever expression Vash had been wearing was schooled into a surprised sort of half-smile by the time the world came into clarity. "Oh, sorry, Wolfwood," Vash said softly from beneath shaggy blonde bangs, without faltering a moment. "I thought you were asleep."  
  
"It's fine," Wolfwood responded, burying his face against the pillow and biting down hard on his lower lip. As if that simple connection between them had broken a dam within his chest, the priest found himself mumbling softly into the fabric in front of his face. The words sort of spilled out, like water through a grate - unstoppable, swift, almost frightening in their simple intensity. "I'm sorry...I'm sorry." The strange thing was not the way he felt so guilty for the day's killing... it wasn't the way he couldn't seem to stop shaking, even as Vash's hands fell to his back and slowly rubbed circles into the flesh . The strangest thing was that he meant it, quite honestly. He *was* sorry. Nicholas D. Wolfwood was not a man that lived in regret - what was done was done, and that was all there was to it. So why would he go back and return those lives he had taken in less than a heartbeat, why was he pulling himself up and holding his head in his hands, breaking down before the being before him? Why was he clutching at Vash's hand like a dying man clinging the the last splintered shards of light he could make out in a fading world? "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I...I have no excuse, and I do, and I'm sorry, but I can't...."  
  
Something strange entered Vash's eyes as Wolfwood pressed closer against his hand, unwilling to let the contact dissipate, unwilling to be left alone. When words were so hard to find, a drunken man tendds to cling to what he could string together, and for the black-clad priest, that wasn't much. "Wolfwood..."  
  
As if a portion of him had ceased to think of hope or breath, the priest ignored the words and continued his whispered chant. "Sorry, sorry, sorry, sor-" Vash shook his head, smiled lightly and touched Wolfwood's forehead again with gentle, cool fingers. The world began to swim as Vash unbuttoned the priest's black coat and worked it down the priest's shoulders, his knuckles brushing here and there against flesh - Wolfwood, fortunately, was too jumbled with his own confession that the touch didn't affect him as it usually would.  
  
"Shh," Vash whispered again, smiling slightly at the other man, who was fighting (and loosing his battle) to keep his mind clear. "Sleep now."  
  
And as if his mind was shutting down completely from within, as if a gloved hand had reached out and extinguished the candle of his conscious thought, Wolfwood found the command impossible to betray.  
  
~~~~  
Consider this  
The hint of the century  
Consider this  
The slip that brought me  
To my knees failed  
What if all these fantasies  
Come flailing around  
Now I've said too much  
I thought that I heard you laughing  
I thought that I heard you sing  
I think I thought I saw you try  
  
But that was just a dream  
That was just a dream  
~~~~  



	6. Sometimes I deny you ever were

Chapter six is here, and now To Love a Lie is being posted on fanfiction.net! Thanks to all of you who have reviewed this piece or commented via the Trigun_Yaoi list, I'm flattered by the commentary and I appreciate every word of it.  
I don't have a lot to say about this chapter, so do read on and prepare for angst!  
  
~Tomo  
PS...Have I ever mentioned that as a child, 'Dune' and 'Tremors' scared the living hell out of me?  
  
~~~~  
Love and other moments are just chemical reactions in your brain  
And feelings of aggressions are the absence of the love drug in  
Your veins  
Love come quickly  
Because I feel my self-esteem is caving in  
It's on the brink  
Love come quickly  
Because I don't think I can keep this monster in  
It's in my skin  
  
[Gunning Down Romance - Savage Garden]  
~~~~  
  
The most dramatic difference Wolfwood could feel during the course of the next few days was the simple fact that the ordeal he and Vash had lived though changed absolutely nothing in their relationship. The simple fact that everything was the same, the way they glanced, the echoing, false laughter, the sensation that neither understood - nor wanted to understood - was all still there indicated that neither of them were honest. Neither of them wanted to change things, so each in their own turn chose to ignore the issue between them and pretend - or at least, seem to pretend - there had never been a parting of ideals.  
  
The honest realization Nicholas came to while watching Vash move, brooding over the fact that neither of them spoke of it... The silence of the almost the almost-issue simply brought out the painful truth that there *was* no truth between them, that everything they had worked out between the two of them was a delicately balenced lie, one they were comfortable with and did not know how to live without.  
  
To Wolfwood, it was utterly, miserably, *completely* distracting, almost to the point that his hands shook visably when he neared the blonde. To Vash... well, how could he even begin to guess at what the blonde thought of the tense moments between them? During the day they road Angelina, silent as the dusty wind tore words from their lips, and they fell easily into a routine of stopping at dusk, eating quietly and bedding down at the same side of the fire, side by side as if nothing at all had occured.  
  
Travel was tiring between towns, and when they did manage to stay in a hotel, they shared a room, bantering occasionally between themselves and arguing over which bar to hit first. When they were drunk things were easiest, the layer of alcohol buffering every action and making things safe. During the hours of sobriety, however, Wolfwood was constantly second-guessing Vash's thoughts and feelings.  
  
"Your turn to cook," Vash merrily chunked his bags down into the sand, running fingers through his hair and smiling as Wolfwood groaned at the prospect of work. The night before, Vash had burned their dinner to a crisp and neither had been able to eat any of it, so tonight was officially Wolfwood's night to deal with their meal.  
  
"Right, right," the priest grunted, surveying the area they had chosen for encampment. All day they had been following a thin, packed-dirt road along the side of a deep gorge, and all along the ridge before the sharp drop off there were large boulders strewn carelessly about. Selecting an area with several large stones for wind breaks, they settled down in the shade as the suns set behind them.  
  
Wolfwood unrolled his bedding next to one of the stones and watched as Vash did the same, merrily unpacking his blue bedroll and flopping down on it, stretching out his cramped limbs. The priest pulled off his overshirt and began poking around the rocky terrain, pulling dry, dusty sagebrush up and using it for fuel. Halfway down the canyon there must have been a vein of water, because he managed to locate enough dry fuel to forge a decent fire and crawled back up to the campsite with kindling spilling out of his arms.  
  
~~~~  
Love and other socially acceptable emotions are morphine  
They're morphine  
Cleverly concealing primal urges often felt bur rarely seen  
Rarely seen  
Love I beg you  
Lift me up into that privileged point of view  
The world of two  
Love don't leave me  
Because I console myself that Hallmark™ cards are true  
I really do  
~~~~  
  
Vash was sitting on his bag playing cards with himself, murmering noises of sucess or despair beneath his breath as the game progressed, his words, actions and expressions all carefully planned, part of his ploy to keep everything under control, to keep things from ever changing. Like a mask, his half-smile, parted lips full and teeth bare, white like bone - calculated just like the capricious angles of his skyward locks. Wolfwood emptied a few cans of soup into the pot they used for almost all meals - it was encrusted with remnants, but that couldn't be helped - and stirred it over the fire while his mind raced.  
  
There had been something...something important that night, after he had broken down in his drunken state on *that night* - he remembered crying into Vash's shoulder, remembered the soft scent that clung to the other man with surprising clarity, given the alcohol he had ingested at the time. After that was a comfortable haze, blank in details but warm in emotion, as if there was something there he needed to recall but couldn't quite grasp. What had happened?  
  
In a burst of bravery, Wolfwood dared to turn and watch Vash out of the corner of his eye while the contents of their meal bubbled warmly on the fire. The blonde was hunched over, his coat hanging open and his glasses gone, settled next to his bag, a deck of kuroneko cards smeared out on the cloth before him. The illusion of a normal, happy man was almost complete; everything about Vash seemed utterly.... ordinary. It was almost spooky to see someone so alien, so completely inhuman wearing such a faultless mask. The way he laughed loudly, his fingers as they drummed on the soft padding of his bed roll - it was hard to believe he was such a peaceful fanatic, such a glutton for pain.  
  
Wolfwood decided that he could have been happy there with Vash if it weren't for a number of things... *Honestly* happy to share his travels with another person so complex, so astounding that it made the priest's mind spin just to consider it. That thought numbed him slightly, and when he began to really think about it the concept made his whole being tingle, full of nervous pins and needles like a disused limb when set into motion again. Vash made him *happy,* in the backwards way a proud person is only happy when they are competing against another in a race of wills. Despite all of his quirks, his past, his family - Wolfwood was drawn to Vash inexplicably, and when they were together.... he could almost be happy. He could almost taste the possibility, though in his mind he knew nothing could ever come of it.  
  
"Happiness," he breathed, not realizing he had spoken aloud until Vash's soft query greeted the word.  
  
"Wolfwood?" the blond questioned, surprise in his tone.  
  
The priest looked up through shaggy bangs and shrugged, smiling slightly as Vash sensed his serious train of though, knowing instinctively that Wolfwood was about to shatter the facade of peace that had clothed them for the last few days. "I was just thinking about how foolish the idea of happiness is, that's all."  
  
"Foolish?" Aquamarine eyes regarded him lazily, cool and omnipotent in their depths. "Why do you say that?"  
  
Because- Because it was true! Because happiness was nothing but a cheap ideal dressed up in colored lights by those with clean hands, who didn't understand that what little 'happiness' they had achieved was nothing more than an lack of pain. Happiness was undefinable in itself, hopeless and unattainable- you might as well say you wanted to fly, or try to describe the innocent color of Vash's eyes - it was equally impossible. There was no happiness in beauty - for that was mere expression - no happiness in death, nor new life - one less to care about, to love, or one more soul to feed, bathe, clothe, suffer. Even in the purest place Wolfwood could imagine - his own orphanage, where the children greeted him with outstretched hands and hopefully smiles - there was not one child there with true claim to happiness, for there was always more to the situation than met the eye, always someone in the past to taint the future. Always blood and dirt and tears that forged nations, partnerships, and money, that raised the next generation of hopeless parents and abandoned young.  
  
So why did he feel that happiness was foolish, happiness being a simple concept, something far beyond the grasp of mortals? "Because I've been searching all my life for some form of happiness, and I've never found a trace of it." the priest grimaced and scraped the side of the pot with the ladel in his hands, sloshing the liquid around once more before pouring it out into two chipped ceramic bowls.  
  
Vash thought about that for a few moments as he gave up on his cards and shuffled the deck away, then flopped back on his blanket and cupped a chin in one hand, regarding Wolfwood seriously for the first time in days, his meal untouched. The priest could almost see the way Vash grasped his words in the fleeting expressions of mingling sadness and denial that washed across his face. "That's because you're looking too hard," he said at last, his tone as thoughtful as his expression.  
  
Looking too hard? Wolfwood jerked around and found himself staring into Vash's eyes, both of them surprised by the other's words, by the stark differences in their ways of life. It was a bare, open, painfully intimate moment - as if their hearts were brushing together gently beneath the setting suns - and the priest turned away first, finding it impossible to meet the conviction in Vash's face for any longer.  
  
"You don't even know what you're looking for. I don't believe in dreams."  
  
Vash looked oddly saddened by that, and Wolfwood cleared his throat, scowling at the way his blonde companion's eyes seemed to fill with tears that would not allow themselves to be shed. **It's an act,** he reminded himself bitterly, staring down into the bowl in his hands. All that innocence, vulnerability - it wasn't truly there. **It's not real at all.**  
  
That thought should have given him strength, but instead it stuck within him and refused to leave his mind. Fake, false, a lie, the eyes of a liar, don't trust, don't believe, don't regret-  
  
And here he was, hypocritical as ever, asking for honesty when all he could deliver was an equally thick passal of untruths... Of course it was human nature to take and never give, that was undeniable, but Wolfwood still felt a wave of shame sweep over his mind as he considered his position. Shame for himeself, who had never looked past his own purposes save for the sake of children. Why did this have to happen? How could Vash's simple gaze bare him so open, render him speechless and confused in a way he had never experianced before?  
  
Vash's bangs were hanging in his eyes like a thousand glittering golden cobwebs, defining the aquamarine pools with gilted thread. Perfect lips opened and closed as he ate, and Wolfwood had to supress a smile as Vash managed to spill food down his chin, yipping softly at the burning stuff - **So young.** The illusion of an innocent was a good one, and for a moment Wolfwood could almost believe Vash was who he seemed to be - a wandering gunman looking for love - and peace - and nothing more. **Fool,** he thought almost unconsciously. **You should tell-**  
  
Tell him? Hah. There was nothing to tell.  
  
The sky was setting, layers of color peeling away from brilliant blue to a half-midnight shade, lighter than Wolfwood's jacket, though not by much. The priest scarfed down his food with single-minded concern, wincing at the bitter aftertaste of the stew as it burned it's way down his throat. "Well, it's better than last night's meal," he shrugged, and Vash laughed slightly, voice hollow in the dying twilight.   
  
"Yeah, isn't it? How much sake do we have left?" Vash asked hopefully, a grin on his face - all traces of his previous thoughtful demeanor wiped away by that ever present smile. Wolfwood shoved his bowl towards the fire and grinned back, the happy expression painfully difficult to yield. The moment between the two of them was gone - to say anything now would only earn him a look of confusion or a round of weak laughter and sorry cover-ups. Better to leave it at this, better to pretend the temptation had never occured and survive a little longer at his side.  
  
~~~~  
I'm gunning down romance  
It never did a thing for me  
But heartache and misery  
Ain't nothing but a tragedy  
  
Love don't leave me  
~~~~  
  
When Wolfwood first awoke, he wasn't sure what had dragged him to conciousness. All around the night seemed to be normal, filled with the soft hum of sand-cicadas and the gentle sound of wind whistling through stone. The fire had died long before and even it's remains had ceased their breathy crackling beneath the globe-like moons above, lending the night an almost spooky sense of perfection.  
  
The priest sat up, running a hand through his hair, and turned. Vash's sleeping bag was empty, his coat and shoes gone - heart in throat, Wolfwood turned and made sure his bike was still present. It was, and the priest breathed a sigh of relief, rubbing at his eyes sleepily. What had made him wake?  
  
Something brushed the back of his mind, a sense of foreboding that loomed like a thunderhead. Instinctively Wolfwood reached for his gun, but as his hands clasped around the soft trappings of the cross punisher, the world seemed to explode in a shower of dirt and stone.  
  
Nicholas D. Wolfwood was slammed into the boulder behind him and scrabbled around for a weapon as the entire campsite tilted to the left and then was half-buried beneath the bursting earth. When a shadow crossed the moon, Wolfwood looked up fearfully and recognized his attacker-  
  
"SAND WORM!" the one called Chapel choked back his terror and leapt to his feet, his side aching where it had struck the stones. "SHIIIT!"  
  
Looming overhead was the massive wedge-shaped skull of one of Gunsmoke's most deadly predators - one of the few native animals that resided on the planet. Hairy, sticky with residue and mud from deep underground, the worm's segmented body slipped left and right, cutting through the air loosely as it tasted the scents on the wind.  
  
Moments later Wolfwood narrowed his eyes, swallowing back the shock that was bubbling about in his mind and making rational thoughts impossible. The worm above shifted and turned it's head, then let out a second bellow, one that Wolfwood could recognize. It was calling to keep away others, staking claim to it's meal - and that meal was Wolfwood. What did he know about worms?  
  
A number of things happened at once right then, as the worm writhed overhead. From somewhere a shot rang out and the worm leapt backwards, tenticals whipping overhead as it howled in pain. As it moved, light fell on the site below, and Wolfwood caught the reflection of moonlight against the buckles of his cross-shaped weapon - he dove and retrieved it, whipping the wrappings off as quickly as he dared without attracting the worm's attention.  
  
Vash had fired, and he momentarily appeared at Wolfwood's side, his trenchcoat flapping in the night breeze, his gun cocked and trained on the worm above. "We have to get off the ground," he told Wolfwood softly, under his breath. "They hunt by searching for sound and heat through the ground below."  
  
The priest nodded grimly, cocking the Cross Punisher with a deft twist of his hand. The sharp clicking made the worm's head swivel with monstrous grace, it's multifaceted eyes glittering in the moonlight. "Don't move," Vash whispered softly, so quietly that Wolfwood couldn't even detect the movement of his lips. "When I count to three, we run in opposite directions," he added softly.  
  
"One....two..." Wolfwood bent his knees fractionally as the worm's hot breath skated over the sand and stank up the air - at last Vash's voice came to three, and each man bolted, running parrallel to the cliff at their side. For a moment the worm seemed confused, then it picked a direction, soaring after Wolfwood with disturbing grace. The priest spat out a swear and vaulted over a boulder, the worm's massive body slinking out of it's hold and over the desert sand.  
  
Vash must have stopped fleeing, because shots rang out in the night, first five blasts at even intervels, then a barrage of metallic clings as the bullets of the man's false arm rained against nearly-impenetrable metal scales. Wolfwood grimaced as the worm didn't even blink, but kept on in it's attack, hurtling through the night towards it's target. Without missing a beat, the priest whirled his weapon around and fired a shell into the beast's gaping mouth. The worm creened as it was struck in the back of the throat, and then there was a blossoming explosion, and the creature fell to the ground, it's head completely disentigrated. Wolfwood allowed himself to relax fractionally, taking a deep breath to clear his head. Where was Vash...?  
  
"You didn't have to kill it," the blonde whispered in his ear, making Wolfwood twitch in surprise. Growling, the priest lurched on his feet and glared at Vash, simultaniously feeling irritated at being snuck up upon and thanking whatever Gods might happen to listen that Vash had survived. The blonde was holding his good arm at an akward angle, though his face betrayed no pain whatsoever.  
  
"Better it than me," Wolfwood whispered softly, then frowned. "Your arm?"  
  
"It's tail caught me on the way down. I didn't expect you to...do that to it..." the blonde shifted and his cybenetic hand whirled for a moment, clicking back into it's normal guise with a soft hiss. Wolfwood lowered his weapon and shook his head in disbelief.  
  
"At least we're alive-"  
  
For the second time that evening, priest and gunman found themselves flung into the darkened sky as the earth beneath them churned with life. Belatedly Wolfwood recalled the defenses the first worm had put up - staking it's claim - against *others* of it's species. **Damn it,** he gritted his teeth and fumbled with his cross as he sailed towards the ground, **Gotta hurry-**  
  
The worms burst out of the ground - three of them, and one immediately began feasting on the fallen corpse, sending splatters of gore skittering across the sand. Wolfwood landed at the edge of the gorge and looked left and right, seeking Vash's support -   
  
Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of the trenchcoat, but when he turned Wolfwood's heart leapt into his throat. Vash's figure was falling, one hand outstretched as if he was grasping at the cliff edge above - "VASH!" the priest shouted, stumbling forward in his haste. For a moment he teetered at the edge of the cliff, eyes wide as Vash's brilliantly colored body was swallowed by the dark shadows of the deep cleft, then shoved himself backwards with all the force he could muster, eyes flashing with fury.  
  
One worm struck, and the priest rolled desperately to the side, his mind reeling as the thick scales slammed into his left arm and sliced into the muscles of his shoulder through the white cotton of his dress shirt. Groaning, Wolfwood hauled his weapon around and blasted the creature, though the bullets he fired were not nearly as effective as his bazooka-like attack. Aiming quickly, he blinded the first worm and then dove, flipping his cross around as he moved and firing again, catching the monster in the unprotected throat. With a burst of ichor-like liquid, the thing fell limp against the ground, sending stone and dust hailing down into the canyon.  
  
All Wolfwood could think of was Vash as he had last seen him, falling downwards, face framed by billowing red and gold, aquamarine eyes reflecting the moonlight overhead like beacons of faith in the night. Somewhere down below while he fought for his life, Vash was laying amidst rubble and blood - dead? No. *No.* Wolfwood absolutely would not believe that something like this could steal the breath from Vash the Stampede's lips - with a feral growl, he leapt at the second worm and dealt with it quickly, firing two shells and rendering it into nothing but a pile of twitching, slime-covered entrails. The last worm didn't even look up, and the priest closed his eyes a moment, unwilling to regard the grisly sight of worm eating worm as his stomach heaved and twisted with belated fear and nervous tension.  
  
"Vash..."  
  
Dashing to the edge of the chasm, Wolfwood peered downwards, gritting his teeth in frustration. There was nothing he could do but climb down there, and that would be dangerous enough. What was more, their campsite was gone - and thus would all their food be missing, as well as their transportation. Even if he found Vash, how would they get out of this alive, stranded in a field of sandworms with no food or water between them?  
  
Unbidden, a thought came to mind. **At least you'd die at his side.**  
  
"Shut up," the priest whispered to that irritating little voice in his mind, singlemindedly slinging his cross over one shoulder and wincing as his left arm protested with a vehement stab of pain. There was no course of action available but this, and with a heavy, tension-filled heart the black haired man descended to the floor of the canyon.  
  
It was easy in the beginning, where the walls didn't slope so sharply and there was almost a trail created by sandfall over the years. The ledges were slick with blood and damp sand that bit beneath Wolfwood's nails and refused to relinquish their place, making his fingertips ache after only a few moments. Halfway down the cross punisher became an unruly weight between his shoulderblades, and as the way down became rougher, Wolfwood considered dropping the deadweight.  
  
But no. Vash was somewhere down there, and dropping heavy objects would not be a good way to insure his friend's safety. At last the stones that slipped and fell beneath his feet began actually hitting the ground, a sound that made Wolfwood breath with a little more ease. Up above the sky was gradually lightening, becoming a darkened shade of charcoal that proceeded the birth of the day and cast a bit of light into the dark hole. Just when Wolfwood thought he was truly going to fall, the aching in his shoulders and wrists to heavy to deny, his foot met something hard, solid, and undeniably stone.  
  
If he hadn't been searching for the remains of the man he.... the man he l....  
  
The remains of his target, Wolfwood would have laughed outloud in relief.  
  
But now - where was Vash?  
  
~~~~  
Take these broken wings  
I'm going to take these broken wings  
And learn to fly  
And learn to fly away  
And learn to fly away  
  
I'm gunning down romance  
~~~~  
  



	7. Sometimes I wander with no place to go

  
~~~~   
_Love and other moments are just chemical reactions in your brain_   
_And feelings of aggressions are the absence of the love drug in_   
_Your veins_   
_Love come quickly_   
_Because I feel my self-esteem is caving in_   
_It's on the brink_   
_Love come quickly_   
_Because I don't think I can keep this monster in_   
_It's in my skin_

_[Gunning Down Romance - Savage Garden]_   
~~~~ 

The most dramatic difference Wolfwood could feel during the course of the next few days was that the ordeal he and Vash had lived though changed absolutely nothing in their relationship. The simple fact that everything was the same, the way they glanced, the echoing, false laughter, the subtle sensation that neither understood - nor wanted to understand - indicated that honesty was far from present Neither of them wanted to change things, so each in their own turn chose to ignore the issue between them and pretend - or at least, seem to pretend - there had never been a parting of ideals. 

The honest realization Nicholas came to while watching Vash move, brooding over the fact that neither of them spoke of it... The silence of the almost the almost-issue simply brought out the painful truth that there *was* no truth between them, that everything they had worked out was a delicately balenced lie, one they were comfortable with and did not know how to live without. 

To Wolfwood, it was utterly, miserably, *completely* distracting, almost to the point that his hands shook visably when he neared the blonde. To Vash... well, how could he even begin to guess at what the blonde thought of the tense moments between them? During the day they road Angelina, silent as the dusty wind tore words from their lips, and they fell easily into a routine of stopping at dusk, eating quietly and bedding down at the same side of the fire, side by side as if nothing at all had occured. 

Travel was tiring between towns, and when they did manage to stay in a hotel, they shared a room, bantering occasionally between themselves and arguing over which bar to hit first. When they were drunk things were easiest, the layer of alcohol buffering every action and making things safe. During the hours of sobriety, however, Wolfwood was constantly second-guessing Vash's thoughts and feelings. 

"Your turn to cook," Vash merrily chunked his bags down into the sand, running fingers through his hair and smiling as Wolfwood groaned at the prospect of work. The night before, Vash had burned their dinner to a crisp and neither had been able to eat any of it, so tonight was officially Wolfwood's night to deal with their meal. 

"Right, right," the priest grunted, surveying the area they had chosen for encampment. All day they had been following a thin, packed-dirt road along the side of a deep gorge, and all along the ridge before the sharp drop off there were large boulders strewn carelessly about. Selecting an area with several large stones for wind breaks, they settled down in the shade as the suns set behind them. 

Wolfwood unrolled his bedding next to one of the stones and watched as Vash did the same, merrily unpacking his blue bedroll and flopping down on it, stretching out his cramped limbs. The priest pulled off his overshirt and began poking around the rocky terrain, pulling dry, dusty sagebrush up and using it for fuel. Halfway down the canyon there must have been a vein of water, because he managed to locate enough dry fuel to forge a decent fire and crawled back up to the campsite with kindling spilling out of his arms. 

~~~~   
_Love and other socially acceptable emotions are morphine_   
_They're morphine_   
_Cleverly concealing primal urges often felt bur rarely seen_   
_Rarely seen_   
_Love I beg you_   
_Lift me up into that privileged point of view_   
_The world of two_   
_Love don't leave me_   
_Because I console myself that Hallmark™ cards are true_   
_I really do_   
~~~~ 

Vash was sitting on his bag playing cards with himself, murmering noises of sucess or despair beneath his breath as the game progressed, his words, actions and expressions all carefully planned, part of his ploy to keep everything under control, to keep things from ever changing. Like a mask, his half-smile, parted lips full and teeth bare, white like bone - calculated just like the capricious angles of his skyward locks. Wolfwood emptied a few cans of soup into the pot they used for almost all meals - it was encrusted with remnants, but that couldn't be helped - and stirred it over the fire while his mind raced. 

There had been something...something important that night, after he had broken down in his drunken state on *that night* - he remembered crying into Vash's shoulder, remembered the soft scent that clung to the other man with surprising clarity, given the alcohol he had ingested at the time. After that was a comfortable haze, blank in details but warm in emotion, as if there was something there he needed to recall but couldn't quite grasp. What had happened? 

In a burst of bravery, Wolfwood dared to turn and watch Vash out of the corner of his eye while the contents of their meal bubbled warmly on the fire. The blonde was hunched over, his shirt hanging open and his glasses gone, settled next to his bag, a deck of kuroneko cards smeared out on the cloth before him. The illusion of a normal, happy man was almost complete; everything about Vash seemed utterly.... ordinary. It was almost spooky to see someone so alien, so completely inhuman wearing such a faultless mask. The way he laughed loudly, his fingers as they drummed on the soft padding of his bed roll - it was hard to believe he was such a peaceful fanatic, such a glutton for pain. 

Wolfwood decided that he could have been happy there with Vash if it weren't for a number of things... *Honestly* happy to share his travels with another person so complex, so astounding that it made the priest's mind spin just to consider it. That thought numbed him slightly, and when he began to really think about it the concept made his whole being tingle, full of nervous pins and needles like a disused limb when set into motion again. Vash made him *happy,* in the backwards way a proud person is only happy when they are competing against another in a race of wills. Despite all of his quirks, his past, his family - Wolfwood was drawn to Vash inexplicably, and when they were together.... he could almost be happy. He could almost taste the possibility, though in his mind he knew nothing could ever come of it. 

"Happiness," he breathed, not realizing he had spoken aloud until Vash's soft query greeted the word. 

"Wolfwood?" the blond questioned, surprise in his tone. 

The priest looked up through shaggy bangs and shrugged, smiling slightly as Vash sensed his serious train of though, knowing instinctively that Wolfwood was about to shatter the facade of peace that had clothed them for the last few days. "I was just thinking about how foolish the idea of happiness is, that's all." 

"Foolish?" Aquamarine eyes regarded him lazily, cool and omnipotent in their depths. "Why do you say that?" 

Because- Because it was true! Because happiness was nothing but a cheap ideal dressed up in colored lights by those with clean hands, who didn't understand that what little 'happiness' they had achieved was nothing more than an lack of pain. Happiness was undefinable in itself, hopeless and unattainable- you might as well say you wanted to fly, or try to describe the innocent color of Vash's eyes - it was equally impossible. There was no happiness in beauty - for that was mere expression - no happiness in death, nor new life - one less to care about, to love, or one more soul to feed, bathe, clothe, suffer. Even in the purest place Wolfwood could imagine - his own orphanage, where the children greeted him with outstretched hands and hopefully smiles - there was not one child there with true claim to happiness, for there was always more to the situation than met the eye, always someone in the past to taint the future. Always blood and dirt and tears that forged nations, partnerships, and money, that raised the next generation of hopeless parents and abandoned young. 

So why did he feel that happiness was foolish, happiness being a simple concept, something far beyond the grasp of mortals? "Because I've been searching all my life for some form of happiness, and I've never found a trace of it." the priest grimaced and scraped the side of the pot with the ladel in his hands, sloshing the liquid around once more before pouring it out into two chipped ceramic bowls. 

Vash thought about that for a few moments as he gave up on his cards and shuffled the deck away, then flopped back on his blanket and cupped a chin in one hand, regarding Wolfwood seriously for the first time in days, his meal untouched. The priest could almost see the way Vash grasped his words in the fleeting expressions of mingling sadness and denial that washed across his face. "That's because you're looking too hard," he said at last, his tone as thoughtful as his expression. 

Looking too hard? Wolfwood jerked around and found himself staring into Vash's eyes, both of them surprised by the other's words, by the stark differences in their ways of life. It was a bare, open, painfully intimate moment - as if their hearts were brushing together gently beneath the setting suns - and the priest turned away first, finding it impossible to meet the conviction in Vash's face for any longer. 

"You don't even know what you're looking for. I don't believe in dreams." 

Vash looked oddly saddened by that, and Wolfwood cleared his throat, scowling at the way his blonde companion's eyes seemed to fill with tears that would not allow themselves to be shed. **It's an act,** he reminded himself bitterly, staring down into the bowl in his hands. All that innocence, vulnerability - it wasn't truly there. **It's not real at all.** 

That thought should have given him strength, but instead it stuck within him and refused to leave his mind. Fake, false, a lie, the eyes of a liar, don't trust, don't believe, don't regret- 

And here he was, hypocritical as ever, asking for honesty when all he could deliver was an equally thick passal of untruths... Of course it was human nature to take and never give, that was undeniable, but Wolfwood still felt a wave of shame sweep over his mind as he considered his position. Shame for himeself, who had never looked past his own purposes save for the sake of children. Why did this have to happen? How could Vash's simple gaze bare him so open, render him speechless and confused in a way he had never experianced before? 

Vash's bangs were hanging in his eyes like a thousand glittering golden cobwebs, defining the aquamarine pools with gilted thread. Perfect lips opened and closed as he ate, and Wolfwood had to supress a smile as Vash managed to spill food down his chin, yipping softly at the burning stuff - **So young.** The illusion of an innocent was a good one, and for a moment Wolfwood could almost believe Vash was who he seemed to be - a wandering gunman looking for love - and peace - and nothing more. **Fool,** he thought almost unconsciously. **You should tell-** 

Tell him? Hah. There was nothing to tell. 

The sky was setting, layers of color peeling away from brilliant blue to a half-midnight shade, lighter than Wolfwood's jacket, though not by much. The priest scarfed down his food with single-minded concern, wincing at the bitter aftertaste of the stew as it burned it's way down his throat. "Well, it's better than last night's meal," he shrugged, and Vash laughed slightly, voice hollow in the dying twilight. 

"Yeah, isn't it? How much sake do we have left?" Vash asked hopefully, a grin on his face - all traces of his previous thoughtful demeanor wiped away by that ever present smile. Wolfwood shoved his bowl towards the fire and grinned back, the happy expression painfully difficult to yield. The moment between the two of them was gone - to say anything now would only earn him a look of confusion or a round of weak laughter and sorry cover-ups. Better to leave it at this, better to pretend the temptation had never occured and survive a little longer at his side. 

~~~~   
_I'm gunning down romance_   
_It never did a thing for me_   
_But heartache and misery_   
_Ain't nothing but a tragedy_

_Love don't leave me_   
~~~~ 

When Wolfwood first awoke, he wasn't sure what had dragged him to conciousness. All around the night seemed to be normal, filled with the soft hum of sand-cicadas and the gentle sound of wind whistling through stone. The fire had died long before and even it's remains had ceased their breathy crackling beneath the globe-like moons above, lending the night an almost spooky sense of perfection. 

The priest sat up, running a hand through his hair, and turned. Vash's sleeping bag was empty, his shirt and shoes gone - heart in throat, Wolfwood turned and made sure his bike was still present. It was, and the priest breathed a sigh of relief, rubbing at his eyes sleepily. What had made him wake? 

Something brushed the back of his mind, a sense of foreboding that loomed like a thunderhead. Instinctively Wolfwood reached for his gun, but as his hands clasped around the soft trappings of the cross punisher, the world seemed to explode in a shower of dirt and stone. 

Nicholas D. Wolfwood was slammed into the boulder behind him and scrabbled around for a weapon as the entire campsite tilted to the left and then was half-buried beneath the bursting earth. When a shadow crossed the moon, Wolfwood looked up fearfully and recognized his attacker- 

"SAND WORM!" the one called Chapel choked back his terror and leapt to his feet, his side aching where it had struck the stones. "SHIIIT!" 

Looming overhead was the massive wedge-shaped skull of one of Gunsmoke's most deadly predators - one of the few native animals that resided on the planet. Hairy, sticky with residue and mud from deep underground, the worm's segmented body slipped left and right, cutting through the air loosely as it tasted the scents on the wind. 

Moments later Wolfwood narrowed his eyes, swallowing back the shock that was bubbling about in his mind and making rational thoughts impossible. The worm above shifted and turned it's head, then let out a second bellow, one that Wolfwood could recognize. It was calling to keep away others, staking claim to it's meal - and that meal was Wolfwood. What did he know about worms? 

A number of things happened at once right then, as the worm writhed overhead. From somewhere a shot rang out and the worm leapt backwards, tenticals whipping overhead as it howled in pain. As it moved, light fell on the site below, and Wolfwood caught the reflection of moonlight against the buckles of his cross-shaped weapon - he dove and retrieved it, whipping the wrappings off as quickly as he dared without attracting the worm's attention. 

Vash had fired, and he momentarily appeared at Wolfwood's side, his trenchbillowy white shirt and slacks flapping in the night breeze, his gun cocked and trained on the worm above. "We have to get off the ground," he told Wolfwood softly, under his breath. "They hunt by searching for sound and heat through the ground below." 

The priest nodded grimly, cocking the Cross Punisher with a deft twist of his hand. The sharp clicking made the worm's head swivel with monstrous grace, it's multifaceted eyes glittering in the moonlight. "Don't move," Vash whispered softly, so quietly that Wolfwood couldn't even detect the movement of his lips. "When I count to three, we run in opposite directions," he added softly. 

"One....two..." Wolfwood bent his knees fractionally as the worm's hot breath skated over the sand and stank up the air - at last Vash's voice came to three, and each man bolted, running parrallel to the cliff at their side. For a moment the worm seemed confused, then it picked a direction, soaring after Wolfwood with disturbing grace. The priest spat out a swear and vaulted over a boulder, the worm's massive body slinking out of it's hold and over the desert sand. 

Vash must have stopped fleeing, because shots rang out in the night, first five blasts at even intervels, then a barrage of metallic clings as the bullets of the man's false arm rained against nearly-impenetrable metal scales. Wolfwood grimaced as the worm didn't even blink, but kept on in it's attack, hurtling through the night towards it's target. Without missing a beat, the priest whirled his weapon around and fired a shell into the beast's gaping mouth. The worm creened as it was struck in the back of the throat, and then there was a blossoming explosion, and the creature fell to the ground, it's head completely disentigrated. Wolfwood allowed himself to relax fractionally, taking a deep breath to clear his head. Where was Vash...? 

"You didn't have to kill it," the blonde whispered in his ear, making Wolfwood twitch in surprise. Growling, the priest lurched on his feet and glared at Vash, simultaniously feeling irritated at being snuck up upon and thanking whatever Gods might happen to listen that Vash had survived. The blonde was holding his good arm at an akward angle, though his face betrayed no pain whatsoever. 

"Better it than me," Wolfwood whispered softly, then frowned. "Your arm?" 

"It's tail caught me on the way down. I didn't expect you to...do that to it..." the blonde shifted and his cybenetic hand whirled for a moment, clicking back into it's normal guise with a soft hiss. Wolfwood lowered his weapon and shook his head in disbelief. 

"At least we're alive-" 

For the second time that evening, priest and gunman found themselves flung into the darkened sky as the earth beneath them churned with life. Belatedly Wolfwood recalled the defenses the first worm had put up - staking it's claim - against *others* of it's species. **Damn it,** he gritted his teeth and fumbled with his cross as he sailed towards the ground, **Gotta hurry-** 

The worms burst out of the ground - three of them, and one immediately began feasting on the fallen corpse, sending splatters of gore skittering across the sand. Wolfwood landed at the edge of the gorge and looked left and right, seeking Vash's support - 

Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of the blonde, but when he turned Wolfwood's heart leapt into his throat. Vash's figure was falling, one hand outstretched as if he was grasping at the cliff edge above - "VASH!" the priest shouted, stumbling forward in his haste. For a moment he teetered at the edge of the cliff, eyes wide as Vash's brilliantly colored body was swallowed by the dark shadows of the deep cleft, then shoved himself backwards with all the force he could muster, eyes flashing with fury. 

One worm struck, and the priest rolled desperately to the side, his mind reeling as the thick scales slammed into his left arm and sliced into the muscles of his shoulder through the white cotton of his dress shirt. Groaning, Wolfwood hauled his weapon around and blasted the creature, though the bullets he fired were not nearly as effective as his bazooka-like attack. Aiming quickly, he blinded the first worm and then dove, flipping his cross around as he moved and firing again, catching the monster in the unprotected throat. With a burst of ichor-like liquid, the thing fell limp against the ground, sending stone and dust hailing down into the canyon. 

All Wolfwood could think of was Vash as he had last seen him, falling downwards, face framed by billowing red and gold, aquamarine eyes reflecting the moonlight overhead like beacons of faith in the night. Somewhere down below while he fought for his life, Vash was laying amidst rubble and blood - dead? No. *No.* Wolfwood absolutely would not believe that something like this could steal the breath from Vash the Stampede's lips - with a feral growl, he leapt at the second worm and dealt with it quickly, firing two shells and rendering it into nothing but a pile of twitching, slime-covered entrails. The last worm didn't even look up, and the priest closed his eyes a moment, unwilling to regard the grisly sight of worm eating worm as his stomach heaved and twisted with belated fear and nervous tension. 

"Vash..." 

Dashing to the edge of the chasm, Wolfwood peered downwards, gritting his teeth in frustration. There was nothing he could do but climb down there, and that would be dangerous enough. What was more, their campsite was gone - and thus would all their food be missing, as well as their transportation. Even if he found Vash, how would they get out of this alive, stranded in a field of sandworms with no food or water between them? 

Unbidden, a thought came to mind. **At least you'd die at his side.** 

"Shut up," the priest whispered to that irritating little voice in his mind, singlemindedly slinging his cross over one shoulder and wincing as his left arm protested with a vehement stab of pain. There was no course of action available but this, and with a heavy, tension-filled heart the black haired man descended to the floor of the canyon. 

It was easy in the beginning, where the walls didn't slope so sharply and there was almost a trail created by sandfall over the years. The ledges were slick with blood and damp sand that bit beneath Wolfwood's nails and refused to relinquish their place, making his fingertips ache after only a few moments. Halfway down the cross punisher became an unruly weight between his shoulderblades, and as the way down became rougher, Wolfwood considered dropping the deadweight. 

But no. Vash was somewhere down there, and dropping heavy objects would not be a good way to insure his friend's safety. At last the stones that slipped and fell beneath his feet began actually hitting the ground, a sound that made Wolfwood breath with a little more ease. Up above the sky was gradually lightening, becoming a darkened shade of charcoal that proceeded the birth of the day and cast a bit of light into the dark hole. Just when Wolfwood thought he was truly going to fall, the aching in his shoulders and wrists to heavy to deny, his foot met something hard, solid, and undeniably stone. 

If he hadn't been searching for the remains of the man he.... the man he l.... 

The remains of his target, Wolfwood would have laughed outloud in relief. 

But now - where was Vash? 

~~~~   
_Take these broken wings_   
_I'm going to take these broken wings_   
_And learn to fly_   
_And learn to fly away_   
_And learn to fly away_

_I'm gunning down romance_   
~~~~   
  
  


Trigun Fanfiction 


	8. Sometimes I feel so alone

Thanks to everyone who's been so consistant in complimenting this story, it wouldn't  
be so frequently updated if you loyal fans didn't offer up reviews now and then. ^^;  
  
It's like Christmas, having someone comment on a story you're proud of. Now, I know my little grateful comments aren't  
that interesting, so I'll cut straight to the next Wolfwood-abusing chapter of 'To Love A Lie'.  
  
~Tomo, whose muse has violent tendencies  
  
  
  
  
~~~~  
Under the dog star sail  
Over the reefs of moonshine  
Under the skies of fall  
North, north west, the stones of Faroe  
  
Under the Arctic fire  
Over the seas of silence  
Hauling on frozen ropes  
For all my days remaining  
But would north be true?  
  
[Why should I cry for you? - Sting]  
~~~~  
  
  
Vash's gun in the dusty ground with a dull thump, leaving Wolfwood's hands free to shake and tremble as he returned the blonde's gaze. Nothing was said for a long moment, then Vash closed his eyes and whispered breathily, dragging the word out into a question. "....where....?"  
  
Wolfwood opened his mouth and closed it, trying to force the words he needed to say from between locked lips, though the site of Vash's broken body had robbed him of such precious eloquency. After a moment of troublesome stalling, he managed to whisper a response, though his voice sounded strange and rough to his own ears, more than a little scared. "The bottom of the canyon. How did you survive, ton-" he caught himself. Such familiarities were not allowed, because they were not the same. Lamely Wolfwood cleared his throat and finished lamely. "...Vash?"  
  
"Dunno." Vash coughed softly, his entire body still save for the wracked expression of his face. It melted between dispair and terror, though Wolfwood fancied he saw a spark of hope when Vash stared into his eyes. "Can you...flip me over?"  
  
"Your....Vash, your neck is broken." God, it hurt to say that. "Moving you will just make it worse."  
  
"No...if you move...me... I can heal," the man said, his eyes unfocused and trained on Wolfwood's hand where it lay next to his head. "It just has to be close to right, you know?"  
  
The priest swallowed suspiciously and shook his head - he had seen injuries this bad before, and nobody *ever* survived them. How had Vash managed to live after a fall like that? He couldn't be immortal - inhuman, yes, but immortal? Wolfwood nibbled on his own lip cautiously, reaching out to cup Vash's head in his left hand - that simple movement made the blonde hiss in pain, and Wolfwood sat back, unwilling to continue. He would damage something permanantly - as if this wasn't - if he tried to move Vash any further!  
  
The blonde's hands were twitching and moving slightly, like dying insects against the grainy ground. "Please? Please, Nick?"  
  
Nick. Nobody ever called him Nick. Well...one somebody. But she didn't count.  
  
The dead don't count.  
  
"You.... have to trust me..." aquamarine pools were half-lidded in the pre-dawn gloom, and Wolfwood bit his lip, shaking his head to clear the tempting orbs from his mental vision. Giving in now....  
  
"Ton-...Vash, you don't know what you're talking about. That'll kill ya!"  
  
"No!" Vash paused and groaned as if something within him was twisted - Wolfwood swallowed grimly and supposed that wasn't too far from the truth. "You know I'm... different.... you have to trust me now...please....Nick? Please? I..." the blonde closed his eyes, and for a moment Wolfwood started forward, heart leaping into his throat and a prayer springing to his lips **- please, Vash, open your eyes. Just let me stare into them without tearing myself up inside, just once-** But the eyes opened again, and now they were full of suspicious tears that threatened to break free.   
  
Droplets spilled down the pale cheek bones, disappearing beneath the torn, smudged cotton overshirt as Vash turned his head slightly, breath catching in his throat - his very expression simply radiated pain that was far too sharp to be bearable. The pattern of slick trailing rivers that outlined the contours of the face beneath him was mesmerizing, the priest found himself staring, his mouth suddenly dry at the innocence beneath him, pure and almost tangible.   
  
"I don't...want to die. I'm scared, Nick."  
  
Wolfwood's resistance gave a giant heave, and for a moment he leaned forward, fully intending to take Vash's lips and release him from his pain in one quick movement of heavily calloused hands. The gun in his grimy fingers felt alien, so different was it than his normal weapon, but Wolfwood didn't let that stop him - he pressed the barrel against Vash's temple and sighed softly, their noses mere inches apart. He could have counted the thin eyelashes if he had so desired, could have numbered off the tears that were standing out against the dimples in his skin. "I can make it go away," Even to Wolfwood, his voice sounded hollow and regretful - what was he saying? "All you have to do is ask."  
  
For a heart-stopping moment Wolfwood thought Vash was going to say yes, so great was the agony written across his face. For the space of a breath the priest thought he was honestly going to have to extinguish the light within the man beneath him - and he almost cried. Almost.  
  
"No. Just roll me over. If you're so sure I'll die..." Vash's voice was little more than a sigh as it brushed across the priest's face, "then let me die watching the sun rise."  
  
Later Wolfwood could not imagine how he had found the strength to spring back into action, let alone the forethought to make the preperations he did after performing Vash's request. Almost of his body's own accord he climbed back up the towering wall, barely feeling the bleeding of his knuckles and the sharp ache between his shoulderblades as he moved. At the top he scoured the area, found the wrapping of his cross punisher draped around a stone, discovered Vash's spare clothing, searched fruitlessly for their bike, and then made his way to the corpses nearby.  
  
Before he really knew what he had done, he was slicing chunks of flesh off the nearest sandworm and wrapping them up in a length of cloth, then forcing them into the bottom of Vash's luggage bag. There were two bedrolls tangled together at the base of a nearby boulder, so the priest wrapped stones in them and dropped them off the edge of the cliff. He then discovered the leather straps he usually kept locked around his cross, and strung them together to make a sizable rope, then roamed about and found one precious canteen of water, which he didn't partake of, merely hooked it to the rest of the geat and sighed thoughtfully.  
  
"Don't stop," the priest ordered himeself, clenching his fists. "If you stop you'll lose your energy." It was frighteningly true - Wolfwood was running, so to say, on nothing more than pure adrenaline, and when that gave out his injuries and strained muscles would make movement unbearable. With a heavy sigh he began to descend, the pack painfully heavy on his shoulders and the rope securing his package to his back busy biting into the soft underbelly of his body.  
  
A little more than halfway down his muscles began to lock up all at once, clenching bitterly whenever the black-clad man ordained to move. Gritting his knife in his teeth, Wolfwood leaned forward and let his feet probe below for another hold, his calves stiff and disobediant as he strained. There was a strong step beneath him, one big enough for a moment of relaxation, and Wolfwood took it without hesitating.  
  
When it broke out from beneath him, the priest fell backwards, fingers scrabbling clumsily at the rapidly distancing wall, seeking some sort of purchase and finding none. He fell a good three stories before fate stepped in, and the leather rope dangling from his pack snagged against a boulder and lodged there. Wolfwood was jerked back by the waist and he nearly sobbed in pain, back bending sharply and then springing back up and slamming into the cliff face. He felt dizzy, nausious - and indeed, as he struggled and failed to loosen the rope around his torso, a nagging, heaving sensation in the back of his throat pressed forward. The priest clung to the wall and threw up all remains of edible substances in his body then feebly pawed at the rope around his waist.  
  
It was strangling him, wringing the life out of his body as he swung thirty yarz above the canyon floor. Sparks appeared on the back of the priest's closed eyelids, and when he opened them again, red was tinging his vision - he knew that red too well, it was the color of blood, the color of death.  
  
Vash was somewhere down there below. Somewhere, laying with his eyes open, staring at the faint color of the sky sandwiched between two walls of solid, endless pale stone. And he needed help - that thought was enough to make Wolfwood cling all the more tightly to the wall before him... Because there was a chance of Vash living. Maybe never being the same - but then, he wasn't human. Could a...a whatever-Vash-was survive a fall like that? It seemed so unlikely that Wolfwood almost gave into despair-  
  
No. **You got yourself into this, now get yourself out. He doesn't matter at all, just survive. Make sure he's dead and keep moving, you're sure to be saved. After all, someone always, always steps in right in the nick of time. Right?**  
  
Nick. Vash had called him Nick. The priest smiled slightly as that name echoed in his mind, his cheek pressed against hard, packed dirt.  
  
Moments later the rope gave way and he plummetted again, blacking out upon contact with the ground.  
  
~~~~  
All colors bleed to red  
Asleep on the ocean's bed  
Drifting in empty seas  
For all my days remaining  
  
But would north be true?  
Why should I?  
Why should I cry for you?  
Dark angels follow me  
Over a godless sea  
Mountains of endless falling,  
For all my days remaining,  
  
What would be true?  
~~~~  
  
"It's a little sad, don't you think?" Vash asked softly, breath ghosting across the shell of Wolfwood's ear, cradeled by warm, quiet breath. It licked along his shoulder and escaped with a soft, lingering hiss.  
  
Wolfwood blinked lazily in response. "What?"  
  
"Aren't you sad that you can't tell the truth?"  
  
That sounded like a question, rather than a softly whispered statement. Wolfwood turned and pressed his forehead to Midvalley's, opening his mouth to reply. The musician shifted slightly and pulled his warmth away, leaving Wolfwood to walk alone, his step limping and his breath hissing quietly between his teeth as pain stung every muscle in his body, ethreal and detached from his consciousness. "There is no truth." Wolfwood whispered as transparant fingertips teased across his cheekbones. Ghosts swirled around him, intangible, almost invisible, but maddeningly ever-present, soft wraiths of white and gold, and the occasional blue-green puff of pastel smoke. They danced and twirled like the ashes of a cigarette on their way spiralling to the floor.  
  
The woman was running from him, through the fields. Wolfwood began to stride, then job, then flee in terror as the waving yellow grasses played at his heels, snagging and tripping him. He went down in a blur of yellow and black, then rolled over against the man next to him, distracted.  
  
Golden hair against his fingertips, soft and yielding, petals of shining sun against his body, the glancing touches more powerful than he had ever imagined, like ice that burned with an intensity that was almost blinding. Kisses that were more than enough to send Wolfwood under, drowning in the sheer power of opalescent aquamarine, all of his aphorisms crumbling beneath the heady gaze.  
  
Vash licked his lips and smiled slightly, the upturning of his lips enough to tempt Wolfwood into another try. The priest lodged his love against a wall that hadn't been there moments before, claiming the lips before him as his own, refusing to share. As he kissed, drank, shared his soul with the man beneath him, a soft, repeating prayer arose in the back of his mind and performed a sweeping crescendo until it could not be ignored.  
  
"Flirting with death, you're flirting with death, you're dancing with denial-"  
  
Legato was whispering soft screams in his ears, his hands running down the lapel of Wolfwood's wrinkled suit, playing with the thin, chea pbuttons. The priest shook his head and bucked back, though his body didn't - couldn't, wouldn't resond to his mental commands - getawaygetawaygetaway! Legato's fingers, one hand harsh and warm, one palm as gentle and cool as ice, coaxing responses that Wolfwood couldn't bear to hear.  
  
"Dancing, dancing-" the fingertips slid lower and lower, longer and longer, until they were thin, whip-like, snaking in tight loops around Wolfwood's ankles. The priest kicked, shouted-  
  
"STOP IT!"  
  
Breath against his neck, a tongue slipping down his shoulderblade and pushing him downwards. "Kissing the devil-"  
  
"LEAVE ME ALONE!"  
  
A mantra, again and again, while Wolfwood clung to his gun, like a talisman against the evil behind him. Somehow he lifted it, somehow he fired, screaming all the while, and Vash fell to the ground before him, hands outstretched as blood blossomed beneath him. "Flirting, flirting-"  
  
"GET OUT OF MY HEAD!!" Wolfwood bit down hard on his own lip and fell to his knees, hands raised to stem the flow of gold down his chin. Lifting his hands, he captured it and struggled to pull it back to him, close and tight, the liquid turning to pale, washed out straw when it touched his chest.  
  
Knives was purring in his arms, coiled like a snake, like a tiger, prepared to bite with ferocity that could not be rivaled. His lazy promise tickled Wolfwood's ears as they kissed, as Vash kissed him, as Knives and Vash pulled away, beyond his reach, owning one another. "Mine. He's mine. He's mine. He's mine. He's-"  
  
  
~~~~  
  
The priest's eyes snapped open, and he stared up at the sky, unaware of anything but the lingering dream and a small stone that was jabbing harshly into his shoulder. "Fuck," he whispered softly. "I'm going fucking crazy."  
  
With those thoughtful words, Wolfwood lay there for another ten minutes against the hard ground, trying to summon up the strength of will to actually move his sprawled limbs. When said mental courage had been achieved, every inch of his body was aching in the most unpleasant of manners, screaming in protest as he hauled himself to his feet. The leather band wrapped around his waist lit his body on fire as Wolfwood staggered to a standing position, leaning dangerously to one side as he began walking, dragging himself onwards with gritted teeth.  
  
It was natural to be scared for his 'friend', especially considering how close he wanted to be to Vash. But still, Nicholas D. Wolfwood had a vague idea, with his blurry vision and bleeding body, of exactly how insane he was becoming. The fact that whether he lived or died *did not matter* was frightening, in the same way the fact that one Vash the Stampede's current status was all he was breathing for made him want to curl up and die...  
  
Definately insane. He dropped himself next to the blonde, barely standing for long enough to meet Vash's weak smile and then unhook the belt around his waist. "I got...stuff," the priest hissed, pulling at the bag next to him and opening it. His head was pounding in need of sleep, but he refused to give in, at least not until Vash had been taken care of. After all, he was the one with the broken neck. "Are ya alright?"  
  
The voice wasn't pleading, just overwhelmingly exhausted, but Wolfwood couldn't bear the haunted look in the eyes that were regarding him. "Cold..." Vash whispered, quietly.  
  
The priest fumbled for a blanket and extracted one of the two sleeping rolls he had discovered with trembling hands. Vash hadn't moved at all while he had been gone, the priest noticed, but he was turning his head with more ease now, his expression was less pained. Could he really be healing that quickly, or was he slipping away from life, into a hopefully painless void?  
  
"Where did you go?" Vash asked, though Wolfwood felt certain that the older man already knew where he had been and what he had found.  
  
"To the top. I got...meat. I should start a fire." **Can't rest just yet, gotta make sure we have food. And then...then...**  
  
"Water?"  
  
"A little."  
  
Vash's face looked concerned, though his eyes were still hazed over with a miasma of agony. "The bike?" he asked, lips dry.  
  
"Didn't see it." Wolfwood dragged himself up and limped to the other side of their 'area', the clearing between massive stones that they had landed in. It wouldn't be necessary to move soon, at least... He found enough firestarting material and managed to recover a match from the bag, starting it up with a long suffuring sigh. Moments later the worm meat had been forced to the side of the fire, close enough to cook but not burn, as Wolfwood intended on passing out for several days if at all possible.  
  
Vash's eyes were closed when the priest was ready to say goodnight - growling, Wolfwood stalked over to the blonde, shoved back the sleeping roll, and crawled down next to him, too tired to even notice the cool temperature of Vash's body. Settling on his stomach, the priest spit out a mouthful of dirt and closed his eyes - sleep hit him like a ton of proverbial bricks. With a sigh that was half a hiccup and half a sob, Wolfwood's thundercloud eyes disappeared behind heavy lips, and his darkly bruised, encrusted lips parted slightly as dreams immediately beset him.  
  
As Wolfwood slept, Vash the Stampede watched him with curious aquamarine eyes, the bones in his neck re-knitting with alarming speed even as he contemplated his paradox of a companion. The humanoid Typhoon gave Wolfwood a long, gaurdedly appraising look, then evidently discarded what he had learned, closing his eyes and joining the other man in slumber.  
  
~~~~  
Sometimes I see your face,  
The stars seem to lose their place  
Why must I think of you?  
Why must I?  
Why should I?  
Why should I cry for you?  
Why would you want me to?  
And what would it mean to say,  
That, "I loved you in my fashion"?  
  
What would be true?  
Why should I?  
Why should I cry for you?  
~~~~  



	9. Sometimes you stare into my mind

~~~~  
I want to know how it will end  
I want to be sure of what it will cost  
I want to strangle the stars for all they promised me  
I want you to call me on your drug phone  
I want to keep you alive so there is always the possibility of murder later  
I want to be there when you learn the cost of desire   
I want you to understand that my malevolence is just a way to win  
I want the name of the ruiner  
I want matches in case I have to suddenly burn  
I want you to know that being kind is overrated  
I want to write my secret across your sky  
I want to watch you lose control  
I want to watch you lose  
  
[I want - Nicole Blackman]  
  
~~~~  
  
Generally speaking, their days were not quiet. Much the opposite, in fact, with Vash's tendency to ask questions at the strangest times while laying on his bedroll. Though the rest of his body was afflicted, Wolfwood was pleased that the blonde's mind and lips - not thinking perverted thoughts, not thinking - were at least complete. Tongari without his fake smile was unthinkable. "Nick, have you ever been in love?"  
  
The question caught Wolfwood by surprise - he dropped the meat he was slicing, and pricked his finger with the single knife they had. Looking up guardedly, he gazed questioningly at Vash, sucking on the bleeding digit with a scowl on his face. "What?"  
  
"You know," the gunman whispered rather tentatively, "love."  
  
It had been three days since the fall, and everything had changed in a way the priest could feel - they touched more, spoke more, and V ash smiled more - with a sinking heart, the black haired man decided that his display of emotions had won over Vash's trust. That was....good, right?   
  
Not it he wanted to resist temptation, to *survive* this.   
  
Wolfwood was sitting cross-legged next to Vash's prone form, holding the blonde's head up slightly as he spooned a mouthful of painfully dry meat into his open mouth. It was distracting to watch those perfect lips part and close, the priest had to look away, lest the blonde notice his tension and question it. When Vash spoke, however, his eyes were almost probing - it made Wolfwood nervous, as if Vash were looking for something within his answers. "Love?"  
  
Vash nodded peacefully, and Wolfwood swore, repositioning himself stiffly and running through a list of answers he could give. The injuries he had sustained days before had healed somewhat - he could move his head a bit now and his hands responded strongly to Wolfwood's touch, though the blonde let out a gasp of pain when more movement than that was attempted.  
  
"There was someone, once," Wolfwood grudgingly admitted, looking away from Vash. Surely that much was safe - if it was the truth. Vash would probably sniff out a lie pertaining to emotions in no time flat - he was very good at telling when people were sad or happy, even if he seemed to have no inkling of Wolfwood's true nature. The priest had always attracted women like the plague - it was his rough attitude and serious tone that drew them - at least, according to Midvalley. There had been men, too, but not anyone too important. Again, save that one saxophone player, who slipped through his defenses...   
  
Unimportant.  
  
Wolfwood chewed on his lower lip and thought about how to breach that to Vash. First, the easy topic - "I almost married a girl back in December, but she was shot up and I left town to start traveling..." She had been the girl who called him Nick, a young waitress who worked for her father tending a bar Wolfwood frequented. She had been a sweet kid with red hair and freckles, and at age sixteen Wolfwood had seen her as everything he'd ever wanted in a woman. Time, he supposed, would have jaded them and broken it apart if she had survived - what they had shared was built on innocence and lack of experience - given his line of work, both were fleeting. Neither of them had loved before, and neither of them had responsibilities at the time. Come to think of it, her mindset was a lot like Vash's…   
  
Wolfwood frowned.   
  
"Did you love her?"   
  
Hmm. "Good question, ton-...Vash."   
  
"I really…" The blonde looked down slightly, his face tilting a bit and his expression regretful against Wolfwood's leg, like a flower that had been left in the sun too long, or maybe a bird with a broken wing. Whatever it was, he seemed absolutely miserable. "I really don't mind that nickname so much. It's the nicest one anyone's ever given me," he flashed Wolfwood a guarded, weary smile, a smile that made him seem ten times older than Wolfwood could ever hope to be. "I bet she loved you, huh?"   
  
"Yeah," there were alarms going off in the back of Wolfwood's head, and he shut them off, shoving his own emotions aside and concentrating on something safer - like the wall of the canyon, or the flickering of their fire. "There was a guy too, at one point, but he's also long gone." It wouldn't hurt to say that, right? Vash would know if he was lying in that uncanny way he had of seizing the truth at the most inopportune times… "Why does it matter?"   
  
"I was just wondering," Vash muttered in a tone that was almost annoyed, "what the difference between lust and love is. Or at least, what you think it is. Because I'm not sure if I've ever been in love."   
  
Wolfwood smirked blankly and automatically searched his coat for a cigarette, seeking through the folds of cloth with thick fingers. Finding he had lost them all, he grunted irritably and settled back against the stone, offering Vash another slice of meat. Vash wouldn't be asking things like that, the priest realized, without a reason - he wasn't that sort of person, and at times he was painfully transparent. So what was it? Wolfwood didn't for a moment believe that Vash was just asking out of boredom or curiosity - it was more likely that the blonde suspected something and was probing for more information. That made Wolfwood grit his teeth nervously - did Vash know how insane he was driving the man sent to lead him on? Had he somehow let something slip? "That's easy." The priest snorted, popping a bite of worm flesh into his mouth and concentrating on the oily taste of the meat instead of the cute way Vash's lips protruded when he sulked. "Lust is wanting someone so bad you could cry, love is needing someone so bad you could cry."   
  
"It's that simple?"   
  
"What about you, Vash, ever been in love?"   
  
The blonde paused thoughtfully, and Wolfwood found himself desperately praying that the answer to his query was 'yes'. Because if Vash had loved before, it would be that much easier to deal with these emotions. There was one thing Wolfwood could never do - and that was break someone's heart for the first time…   
  
**Stop it,** he scowled, where Vash couldn't see it. **You're not breaking any hearts, because you don't love him. You just…want him. A lot.**   
  
Love or lust? Vash's question echoed in his mind, and the priest shook his head in an effort to clear it of such thoughts - he failed and sighed gustily. **I don't love him, that's for sure.** Yes, Vash made him happy, but Wolfwood didn't love people. He lusted, he wanted, and on occasion even needed company, but never loved someone simply for being who they were. Vash, however, wore his heart on his sleeve - someone who saw the best in everyone was setting themselves up for a state of perpetual heartbreak.   
  
"I think so."   
  
The priest sighed in relief and covered the noise with a cough, offering Vash's prone body another morsel of their scanty food supply. "What was she like?"   
  
"Not she. He." Vash was looking at something very far away, his eyes unfocused as they stared past the dark cloud of Wolfwood's hair and up into the sky.   
  
Wolfwood choked so hard that Vash half sat up, hands on his friend's shoulder in concern. "What? Wolfwood, are you okay?"   
  
"Y-y-yes." Damn it, damn it, damn it, the priest groaned. If Vash had been straight he would have had to worry about defiling him, or being rejected on the base of gender. But if the blonde was open about something like that, those excuses were no longer viable - and Wolfwood needed all the excuses he could muster up. **No, you don't need excuses. It's been weeks since you got any, so of course you're a little stressed…**   
  
Bull. Shit. Nicholas D. Wolfwood sat back and clenched his fists until his hands stopped trembling. Vash liked men - okay, fine. Maybe he would be up for a good platonic go-around if his spine healed and he ever moved again… "Sorry. Swallowed funny. What was he like?"   
  
"He…" Vash sighed and closed his eyes, making Wolfwood relax almost instantly. Things were less tense when that cool gaze wasn't turned towards him, wasn't proving his mind with all of it's intense, curious innocence. "He changed. Until I didn't know him anymore, and then I ran, because I was afraid of what he had become, afraid he would change me too."   
  
Something in the back of Wolfwood's mind began turning at those words, and he frowned slightly. **That…. That sounds familiar. Why does that sound familiar?** "Well, if he loved you, he wouldn't want to change you."   
  
"It's not so much that he wanted to change me," Vash's expression was downcast and guilty. "It was more…he wanted to change everything for me."   
  
**Impossible.** The priest's eyes widened as his suspicions began to formulate in the back of his mind, fitting together like pieces of a puzzle. **That is so impossible. But it would make sense…. NO!** "If he loved you he wouldn't want to change you." That was a lie, Wolfwood knew. You could love someone and send their world to hell, and still love them.   
  
"But I felt awful when I left, lonely." Vash's eyes opened again and fixed on Wolfwood's face, their gaze effectively locking the black haired man against his side with a look that bore open his soul to Vash's explorative thoughts. They sat for a few moments connected like that, Vash propped against Wolfwood's leg, the priest's hand poised with a slip of meat stuck to his knife, before motion was achieved again and Wolfwood found his breath once more. Vash had said 'lonely' as almost a plea - a plea for what? Company? Wolfwood? Sympathy, or reassurance?   
  
"It was a long time ago, right? Don't worry about it. It doesn't matter now." Wolfwood backed away sharply, and Vash's head hit the dirt with a painfully sharp sounding thunk. The priest couldn't trust himself with those eyes, with that heat leaning against his leg! How could any man be expected to endure that? On the pretense of checking the fire, he strode across the clearing and prodded the flames, shivering with the sensation of Vash's gaze on his figure. In fact, he was so nervous that he barely noticed when words slipped out of his lips, almost of their own accord, almost a full five minutes later. "Do you still…love him?"   
  
Vash was very quiet, his eyes the only sign of life in his broken body. They followed Wolfwood curiously as the priest moved, hiding something in their depths. It could have been amusement at the priest's cold sweat, or maybe attraction towards the broadly muscled shoulders clad in black - or even simple, honest curiosity. Wolfwood couldn't tell, didn't want to know, wanted Vash to look away or fall asleep and leave him with his thoughts that never managed to seem private enough when the blonde was around. "Part of me does, yes. Still loves - or lusts? - for him."   
  
For lack of anything else to think/say/pray for, Wolfwood gritted his teeth and turned to stare at Vash, who had at last slid his gaze away and was peering intently up at the sky. **He is the target. He is the target. He is the target.**   
  
He was a damned beautiful target, though, and Wolfwood wanted him all the more for it.   
  
  
~~~~  
I want to know exactly what it's going to take  
I want to see you insert yourself into glory   
I want your touches to scar me so I'll know where you've been  
I want you to watch when I go down in flames  
I want a list of atrocities done in your name  
I want to reach my hand into the dark and feel what reaches back   
I want to remember when my nightmares were clearer   
I want to be there when your hot black rage rips wide open   
I want to taste my own kind   
I want to be wrapped in cold wet sheets to see if it's different on this side   
~~~~  
A week later upon awakening, Wolfwood was greeted by the site of Vash kneeling over the fire, his whole body shaking with the effort of keeping himself upright. Fingers clenched until his knuckles were white, Vash was stirring the constantly bubbling stew of worm meat and a few herbs the priest had found with trembling hands, his face bent in concentration as if each second pained him more than he could ever put into words. The blonde was thinner, his face and limbs gaunt with lack of food and drink, his hair sticky with dirt and long-dried hairgel, a wraith of his former self... The gunman sorely needed a bath and a decent meal, but neither could be provided, and thus he stood dripping bandages, looking like some sort of twisted ghost. Wolfwood, after nearly throwing up his heart in surprise at the sight, promptly stormed up to the blonde and shoved him back down, brows furrowed. "You'll strain yourself."  
  
For a moment they stayed like that, Wolfwood glaring down the bridge of his nose at Vash, the blonde's wrists trapped in his hands, and then both looked away - the priest stood and scowled at his companion, gritting his teeth against the emotions a single second could stir up. Why did his skin have to be so calm, so cool? How could a single pair of eyes trap time and space within themselves, captivating crystals, shards of what might have been, could be, could have been-  
  
"I will not," Vash's tone was petulant, but his eyes were forgiving and understanding, and a little appreciative of Wolfwood's concern. The way they softened slightly made the priest swallow back the urge to touch, to fall into a gaze like that - "I can take a lot more than that. You don't - "  
  
"Maybe I would understand," Wolfwood grunted through clenched teeth as he anticipated Vash's words, "if you would condescend to tell me."  
  
It wasn't just his recent terror of losing the blonde that made him say those words, words that would bring every unpleasant memory Vash harbored to mind - it was the frustration of being so close and yet so far, of *knowing* what was wrong and not being able to say anything. He knew that if Vash gave him the chance, he could console the blonde - or at least, share the burdan.  
  
**No. Idiot. If he tells you and trusts you, then you really *are* his friend and you really *will* hurt him.**  
  
**I'm going to hurt him anyway.**  
  
The blonde looked sad for a moment while the priest beat down the taunts of his subconscious, biting his lower lip in what Wolfwood could only call a well-acted mimicry of inner conflict. Despite the pale hue of his face and the washed out color of his bandages and scars, Vash managed to look frighteningly like a lost child, and a guilty one at that - Wolfwood squeezed his eyes shut and sighed softly. **Just apologize for it and he'll forget you ever wanted more than face value,** he told himself, licking his suddenly dry lips. "Sorry, that was sharp of me," Wolfwood added out loud, the apology sticky and rough as it left his mouth. He wasn't used to regret quite yet, after spending so many long years evading it...  
  
**Vash is changing you.**  
  
**Yeah. He's changing me.**  
  
"I'm not... normal." Vash's heavy voice jerked Wolfwood out of his internal argument, blinking in surprise at the continuation he had not expected. Vash had sat up again, his hands wrapped around his torso as if he was fighting off a chill - though Wolfwood knew the air was hot and crisp, and his position was merely a stance against the ghosts of memories. "Not at all."  
  
"Well, I knew that," Wolfwood couldn't help himself - he wanted to comment, to make the blonde look up, move, smirk, frown - anything but that blank look.  
  
"No. Not human."  
  
Thundercloud eyes widened slightly.  
  
Vash turned and stared down at his right wrist, tracing the scars that marred his flesh with a tentative fingertip, a sigh gracing his lips. "I'm not....sure what I am, exactly. But it's not human, it's stronger. And lives longer. And..."  
  
"Immortal..." Wolfwood whispered.  
  
The blonde looked up, eyes wide with undiluted fear. "No!" he whispered, clenching his own arm until the flesh bled white and his nails were bruising the skin, "Don't say that. Please don't say that. I'm not - nothing deserves to be-"  
  
Wolfwood stepped back, taken by surprise at the vehemence in Vash's tone - it was an underlying current that was almost frighteningly tense. "Okay!" he waved a hand loosely, trying to force the angry comeback aside, "What do I know, huh, tongari?" Vash did not relax, merely closed his eyes and sighed again, a heavy gust of air in the stillness of the canyon.  
  
"I heal. I'm fast. And despite all these scars, I'm not dead yet."  
  
The priest stared. This was not *his* Vash, not the man he had begun to unravel piece by piece, fighting to understand... Scowling, he knelt next to Vash and offered a shoulder, surprised when the blonde conceded and lay his head against the softness of Wolfwood's cotton-clad chest, his breathing choppy and short.  
  
"But..." Vash trailed off, eyes closing, his fingers tightening fractionally around Wolfwood's shirt, "....maybe someday..."  
  
Wolfwood didn't want to hear Vash pray for death. He wanted to hold him, to kiss him, but he would *not* listen to terror, to miserable words of despair. Quickly, he snatched the blonde's wrists up in his broad palms and shook Vash sharply, staring furiously at the liquid orbs that gazed up at him through soft blonde bangs. "Vash, shut up. Hopelessness does *not* suit you," he whispered sharply, peaked nose inches from the other man's, and closing in. *It* happened before he noticed what he was doing - and when he suddenly realized his lips were pressed to Vash's, the only thing he could do was savor the sweet taste for a moment then pull away and pray his eyes were still flashing despite the fluttering of his heart.  
  
Wolfwood licked his lips.  
  
Vash opened his mouth and closed it again, eyes wide and shocked as he realized what had just happened. For a moment the priest considered taking advantage of his parted lips once more, but decided against it as soon as Vash spoke, his voice trembling. "W...Wolfwood...?"  
  
"C'mon, tongari, we're gettin' out of here."  
  
~~~~  
I want you to come on strong  
I want to leave you out in the cold   
I want the exact same thing but different  
I want some soft drugs some soft soft drugs  
I want to throw you  
I want you to know I know  
I want to know if you read me  
I want to swing with my eyes shut and see what I hit  
I want to know just how much you hate me so I can predict what you'll do   
I want you to know the wounds are self-inflicted  
I want a controlling interest   
I want to be somewhere beautiful when I die  
I want to be your secret hater  
I want to stop destroying you but I can't  
And I want and I want and I want and I will always be hungry  
And I want and I want and I want  
~~~~ 


	10. Sometimes you unshackle my soul

Chapter Ten  
  
Okay, so I lied, no insurance girls in this chapter, they were edged out by the first remotely happy moment we've seen in a while. (Emphasis on 'remotely'.) That will make Certain Individuals pleased, I wager. I underwent a major bout of writers block smack dab in the middle of this chapter, so it may not be up to normal standards (I.E. Tomo escapes to the World Of Wolfwood Nightmares Where Internal Conflict Becomes Physical and Hopefully Remotely Interesting [TM]), though hopefully the last scene will make up for it. It was touch-and-go with inspiration for a while, I wonder if I'm losing my touch? o_o Um, what else - This song Reminds Me Of Wolfwood! It fits him well....  
  
  
~Tomo Trillions (Because she is unworthy of Master's name, she takes a close subsitute)~  
Who is rapidly feeling alarmed by the ammount of death threats being targeted at her person.  
  
  
  
  
  
~~~~  
Tied to the tracks and the train's just coming  
Strapped to the wing with the engine running  
You say that this wasn't in your plan  
And don't mess around with the demolition man  
  
Tied to a chair, the bomb is ticking  
This situation was not of your picking  
You say that this wasn't in your plan  
And don't mess around with the demolition man  
  
[Demolition Man - Sting]  
~~~~  
  
  
Wolfwood gritted his teeth and then sighed sharply as Vash's metallic elbow dug into his side, biting the flesh for a moment as the two walked and moved, the endless stretches of sand broadening to blue sky so bright it burned his eyes when he looked up, tried to breath. Something was crushing his lungs, pressing against his stomach and throat making each ragged gasp for air an experience of utter agony -   
  
He wasn't sure how long they had been walking, or even if they were moving, or even where he was - at least two days, he supposed it had to have been - because as they moved together time seemed to blur into one long seamless stream of consciousness. Sun, moon, the light glinting off the orbs of massive power plants in the city in the dunes, hands helping him to his feet and pushing Vash ahead of them - salvation became smudged with everything else. Later he would remember the sound of Vash crying in the darkness, heavy with a combination of fear, hunger and injury, the salty tang of blood... Delirium, sweet and safe, where anything that slipped free of heated lips was chalked up to the tension of fever. Where nobody was held accountable for their slippery words Wolfwood could roll and cry and escape.  
  
At some point there had been a sandstorm, Wolfwood could subconsciously remember - just barely - the intensity of grit in his cuts as he huddled over Vash's battered body, the blonde screaming into his ear to move, to shelter himself - and he had refused. Because... because why? Those fear-filled aquamarine eyes had destroyed his own thoughts of self-preservation and in a heartbeat he had borne burns and abrasions all for his companion, something the 'old' Nicholas D. Wolfwood - no, the old Chapel - would never have done. The cross punisher he had clung doggedly to as they traveled, refusing to relinquish his weapon even when curious villagers had appeared on the horizon, pointing to Vash and Wolfwood urgently as they staggered and fell together in the sand. Still gripping one another. Never letting go.  
  
He had dreamed of the woman in the fields, of Vash - lots of Vash - and a nightmare occasionally, of Midvalley and Legato and Knives. They laughed at him, pushed him down and aside, making their way towards the one thing Wolfwood actually *cared* for in the world - Vash. And Wolfwood screamed his name, thrashing on his sticky pillow, biting his lip until blood filled his mouth and cool hands had to hold him down, wiping away the liquid, whispering sweetly into his ear. When Vash's voice had disappeared Wolfwood fell again at the mercy of the woman with long black hair, who picked through his barriers and mind without much thought at all, cupping her chin in one hand and playing with a strand of hair in the other as her words drove him to pieces again and again.  
  
"Why did you carry him?"  
  
"I didn't want to leave him."  
  
"Why didn't you leave him?"  
"I care for him."  
  
Inquisitive, soft eyes. Mahogany, not unlike Midvalley's - though they held more innocence and brilliance that the saxophone player's ever had. "Why do you care for him?"  
  
"I don't know, I don't know...."  
  
Conversations went like that, sometimes it was Midvalley's accusing voice that filtered through the dimness, sometimes it was the black haired woman with the disarming smile - at all times though, Wolfwood had the distinct impression that *somone* was next to him, someone strong and someone who *did* care about him - it made it bearable to float through a sea of internal struggle. Knowing that someone waited....  
  
The girl was at his side, looking sad, her liquid brown eyes full of hidden agonies as they walked together on the sunny pathway. Reminded of Vash, Wolfwood stopped in his tracks on the dusty road and looked down at the shorter woman in puzzlement. "What?" he asked sharply, making her blink at the biting tone in his voice. "What's wrong with you?"  
  
He was favored with a weak smile as the girl brushed hair out of her eyes with a slender hand, nails trailing along her own flesh. "I just dislike death in any form, sir."  
  
Wolfwood laughed a bit harshly and looked up, regarding the landscape around them with a smirk. "There's no death here," he muttered, preparing to move again.  
  
The words were soft. "You're dying."  
  
"Bullshit," the priest drawled, staring at the woman through ebony bangs. Why would he ever believe that? "I've never felt better. I'm in a beautiful place with a beautiful woman," he added almost teasingly, and was a bit annoyed to see that she didn't even bat an eye at his tone. "And I've been dying since the day I was born."  
  
"At the end of this path there is nothing... If you go there, you will be in my company for much longer than you believe." The woman stared levelly, lips pressed together in an almost sulking expression, full and worried. "As lonely as I am...others need you."  
  
"Why are you warning me? I thought Death was supposed to hunt it's victims," Wolfwood murmered, though he paused none the less, scanning the area with roving thundercloud eyes once more. It was true, he reflected after a moment, that he felt drawn down that path lined with softly waving grasses, golden spun beneath the sun..... One sun. Where was he?  
  
"Home." the girl told him, reading his mind and then speaking again. "I'm not death, I'm just caught between," the woman shrugged, and her voice took on a more biting tone - was it Wolfwood's imagination, or did the wind pick up and begin scattering the golden leaves across the path before him, sending them dancing and skirting the trail's edges? "And you have someone waiting for you, I can't bear to see a heart broken because you don't have the strength of will to turn around and walk back the way you came."  
  
Wolfwood's mind seemed to catch on the words and replay them again and again. "A.... heart.... broken.... Whose?"  
  
A faint smile, and she left his side, turning her back to him. The woman had the figure of a mother, a patient figure, with strong shoulders and gentle curves, a warm, soothing, comforting figure. Wolfwood reached out a hand, startled as she seemed to almost-fade, the blue of the sky licking at her gold-edged figure. "You know who I mean."  
  
"Who?!" He demanded, taking a step forward and away from the path. The grass seemed to deepen around him, making passage so difficult that he nearly fell to his knees - and suddenly the road seemed less innocent and more demanding, almost frightening, lonely, and still the color of straw, the color of *his* hair- "Vash?" he continued, begging for an answer. He *needed* this woman to tell him this, needed to know if Vash really...really...   
  
"I don't love him!" Wolfwood shouted, the vines around his wrists tightening and squeezing until he could barely feel his fingers and his legs seemed stiff beneath him. "I DON'T!"  
  
She paused. "Then...with nothing to love, you will surely die... Chapel. And so will he."  
  
The priest gritted his teeth at the name, narrowing his eyes and plunging one hand forward into the wall of grass before him, groping for a feel of her legs and missing completely. He had to find her, because she knew *something* and he had to find out what. "VASH! Tell me about him!"  
  
No response. Wolfwood tore out a handful of gold, the spikes slicing against his fingertips and sending droplets splattering to the ground below. He ignored them until they began pooling and pooling at his feet, dying the grass a sickly shade of red - and it spread outwards, radiating from his body in magnifying ripples that seemed to go on forever. In moments he was ankle-deep in the flowing crimson. "VASH!"  
  
The gold seemed like a dream now, as Wolfwood fought for purchase in the slick red pool, slipping downwards until he was up to his neck, and then there was nothing beneath him and he was paddling desperately after the woman, who's steps formed tiny ripples on the surface of the lake -   
  
"You will surely die, Chapel, and so will he-"  
  
Spitting out a mouthful of crimson, Wolfwood began stroking forwards, the feeling of water surrounding him more than a little terrifying to the man - water was alien, and he couldn't swim - he was sinking, drowning, dying....  
  
Wolfwood choked back a sob as liquid filled his lungs and bubbled through his nose and mouth, his strength giving way as the surface of the water slurped around his fingertips, pulling him downwards. For a moment a flash of golden aquamarine passed through his mind, and then -   
  
~~~~  
I'm a walking nightmare, an arsenal of doom  
I kill conversation as I walk into the room  
I'm a three line whip  
I'm the sort of thing they ban  
I'm a walking disaster  
I'm a demolition man  
~~~~  
  
"Ah, you're up at last!"  
  
Memories, half dreamed and half real, of Vash's arms looped around his neck, Vash falling backwards off the cliff, Wolfwood climbing until he felt ready to die right there on the side of the precipice, his arms and legs burning and twisting and aching, the blood -   
  
"Who-"  
  
Someone pressed a cloth across his eyes as the priest registered that the voice was not familiar and tensed up suspiciously. "Shh, lay back and don't try to move. Your fever has broken but your vision is very sensitive. Don't open your eyes, alright?"  
  
Another moment and a cup was at his lips. "Drink." Wolfwood obeyed and swallowed the cool, slightly minty liquid, sighing softly as it filled his almost painfully empty stomach. "More."  
  
After another cup and a half, Wolfwood felt that if he drank anymore he would probably be sick - and sensing that, the girl (the voice was definitely female) didn't offer him anymore, but let him talk, his voice cracking as he struggled to speak.  
  
"Where's-"  
  
"Ericks?" Wolfwood frowned at the name until he placed it as one of Vash's favorite alter-egos, one he had used before. With a slight frown, he nodded, and listened as the woman moved around the room, her clothing rustling softly. "He's taken a job downstairs to pay for your bills."  
  
"Bills?"  
  
"You've been sick quite a while," the girl sounded amused, though eager to talk. Wolfwood judged that she was not very old, and wondered what sort of lies Vash had told to get him here - he would have to be careful with what he said. "Two weeks on and off now."  
  
"Two weeks?!"  
  
"Yeah! Ericks brought you in and told us all about your bike accident and how he had to carry you all the way here - you're lucky to have a partner like that, you know. Not many people would haul someone through the sands, even if they *were* cousins!"  
  
Wolfwood started to nod and heard a squeak of dismay as the girl jumped to her feet. "Hey, careful! If that pack slips you could be blinded - The fever does that to people sometimes. You have to be really careful, or else I'll have to find some way to keep your head from moving."  
  
"Who are you?"  
  
She sounded pleased that he had asked, and Wolfwood smiled faintly - with a voice as young as hers, he felt immediately inclined towards the girl, and perversely hoped she was pretty. "My names Via," she said. "My uncle owns this hotel, and my dad used to be a doctor here in town, but he passed on last year and I took up his place."  
  
Hm. Wolfwood tried wiggling his fingers, only half-listening as the girl went on to talk about her little brothers and sisters and the town they were in - it was called Semana and was somewhere between Little Jersey and New Oregon. His hands moved and he could feel all of his toes, Wolfwood supposed he was in good enough shape - but he wouldn't bother moving the cloth over his eyes. "When will I be able to see again?" he asked quietly.  
  
"Oh, keep it on for a few more days and we'll take it off at night for gradually longer periods of time to get you used to the light once more. It'll be a while before you can see full sunlight though."  
  
Wolfwood grimaced, but took care to speak in his nicest tone of voice when requesting things. "Ah. Thank you, Via. I don't suppose you could find V....Ericks and have him come talk to me, could you?"  
  
"Well, actually, Mister Nicholas....can I call you that?" Wolfwood murmured an affirmative ("Just Nicholas is fine...") and Via continued, "His shift will be over any minute now - "  
  
"NICK!" Wolfwood felt himself smiling tiredly, as that voice could only belong to one person - for a moment he felt dizzy, then Vash's hands were against his arm, cool and soft without their leather gloves. "You're up! Are you alright, feel better? Via, his eyes - no? Of course! Thank you, kiddo, you've been a great help!"  
  
"Don't call me kiddo, and I'm not done yet-" Wolfwood smiled faintly at the petulant tone, then he heard Vash murmur something and the girl shifted. "Oh. Yeah, sure...just watch his eyes and call me if you need something! And don't tire him out!"  
  
The door clicked shut and Vash's tone abruptly became serious, dropping almost an octave and filling with fear. "Wolfwood, are you alright?"  
  
"Yeah, 'm fine. What happened?"  
  
"You passed out while trying to carry me here, so I took over."  
  
"Your back..."  
  
"Is fine. I told you it would be."  
  
"That's impossible-"  
  
"Evidently not." The bed creaked as Vash sat down, and Wolfwood inhaled, suddenly desperate for a cigarette. He couldn't smell the soft scent of leather and gunpowder that usually accompanied Vash, and supposed that maybe it *had* been two weeks, after all. It *would* take that much to get Vash smelling decent, he mentally noted with a smirk... "Wolfwood... I..." The words were almost hesitant, "Thank you."  
  
The priest's fingers twitched. "Huh?"  
  
"You... found me down at the bottom of the cliff. And stayed with me, and carried me... and..."   
  
**And kissed you?** Wolfwood added mentally to the list, grimacing beneath the cloth that hid his expression from view. *That* he remembered, better than he would have liked to. What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he keep himself from courting death?  
  
"Why?"  
  
Vash's question so obviously included his thought that for a moment Wolfwood wondered if he had spoken out loud. "I...wanted to."  
  
A shifting of cloth and suddenly he could feel Vash's back pressed against his side, cool between the cloth and his sheets. "It's been...a long time since anyone's ever done that for me." Done what? Saved him, or kissed him? Wolfwood wasn't sure, but the lack of distinction made him nervous - he picked at the sheets with one hand. It hadn't been a dream - a nightmare - had it?  
  
**Do not, under any circumstance, kiss him again,** he reminded himself. **Nicholas D. Wolfwood does *not* make slip-ups. Especially not where Vash is concerned, because he's too important to lose. As a *target* of course, I can't lose sight of my *target*..... Just control yourself, and-**  
  
The warmth was closer to his arms now, and Wolfwood frowned slightly, feeling Vash reach out and place a hand on the cloth over his face. Instinctively he kept his eyes shut tightly, but the damp fabric was not removed. "Wolfwood...."  
  
"Eeeeericks! He's still recovering!" A pounding on the door, then Via burst in - and in a heartbeat, Vash was on his feet, sounding completely amused.   
  
"I was being good and careful, honest!" Vash complained, and Wolfwood found himself licking his lips, wondering what Vash had *almost* said. The unspoken words still hung heavily in the space between them, so close it was tempting -"I wouldn't hurt him-"  
  
"He needs sleep, though. Here, Nicholas, drink this - " another cup to his lips, and Wolfwood drank obediently. Belatedly he realized that it *had* to have been drugged, because his mind immediately began slowing and churning to a stop. "Ericks, leave him alone, you can talk to him when he wakes up."  
  
"May I stay in here?"  
  
"If you're quiet..." Wolfwood felt himself drifting away, and for a moment he struggled, fearing the dreams would return. Someone's hands pressed across his eyes - the fingers were long and strong, like Vash's - and he felt sleep enclose him once more.  
  
This time it was dreamless.  
  
~~~~  
You come to me like a moth to the flame  
It's love you need but I don't play that game  
'Cos you could be my greatest fan  
But I'm nobody's friend  
I'm a demolition man  
~~~~  
  
Another week, another seven days of sleep and warm broth, until Wolfwood could stay awake for stretches at a time, even hours on a good day. Via brought in a radio for him to listen to, and Vash frequented the room, talking to him or even just sitting on the bed, worrying the fabric with long fingers. Wolfwood knew the blonde had something to say, but had lost his nerve - and he was fine with that. If Vash gave in to whatever was bothering him, Wolfwood couldn't trust himself to stay distanced from the man, and if he got too close, death would undeniably find him.  
  
**'"You will surely die, Chapel, and so will he-"'** What had that meant? Those damned words had been haunting him ever since he had woken from his delirium, though memories of the dream had long since faded completely from his mind.   
  
"Via's out for the night," Vash told him softly, cutting into his thoughts. "She's tending to a birth on the other side of town."  
  
"Ah," Wolfwood swallowed as Vash sat again next to the bed, his hands seeking through the cloth for something - there. After a moment Vash's hands closed over his, and there were gentle fingers caressing the palm of his hand, tickling softly as they traced the creases of his skin. "Vash?"  
  
The fingers continued moving, pushing the folds of cloth away and revealing more of Wolfwood's skin. His touch was almost hesitant as it swept up to the priest's elbow and paused curiously, then disappeared.  
  
"Vash, I want to sit up."  
  
"What?"  
  
Wolfwood raised himself onto his elbows and kept his eyes tightly closed. "It's dark, right?"  
  
"Yes-"  
  
"Via said I could try to see in the darkness soon enough. I want to sit up and look at you."   
  
Vash seemed to think a moment, then responded with a voice that almost trembled - as if he wanted something. What?. "Wait. Let me turn off the lights and cover the window." He moved, shuffled through the room, and moments later was pressing another pillow between Wolfwood's spine and the head of the bed. When at last the priest was sitting, he lifted his hands and pulled the cloth from his eyes, squinting slightly as he did so.  
  
At first there was nothing but blackness and shadows - encouraged, Wolfwood opened his eyes wider, and blinked, surprised that he could discern shadows and contrasts in the room. No shapes were obvious, and everything blended together, especially when he moved his head, but there was a bit of color. Enough that he felt he wouldn't go blind anytime soon, at least. "Does it hurt?" Vash asked, nervously.  
  
"No. Come here." Wolfwood blinked as the words came out of their own accord. What was he doing? Even as Vash approached the bed he stared at the blonde, his flesh highlighted blue and soft cerulean - and something inside stirred, prowling to life until it was an uncontrollable urge. "Sit down, now."  
  
Vash lowered himself to the bed, and Wolfwood shook his head, wincing as it induced a bit of dizziness - when that passed, he reached out and took Vash's shoulder with one hand. "Closer."  
  
"Wolfwood-"  
  
Something was tightening in his chest, and all Wolfwood could do was pull Vash closer, until his arms were on either side of the priest's waist - it was winding itself like a spring within him, come strange combination of need and anticipation and emotion. Nicholas whispered softly under his breath, urging the blonde on softly and pulling him closer, unable to dampen the raw urgency in his voice. "Come on, legs up - " and before either of them knew what had happened, Vash was sitting in Wolfwood's lap, his eyes round and wide, highly visible - if not a bit blurry - in the moonlight that filtered around the shuttered window.  
  
"Better," Wolfwood hissed, and slid his arms around Vash's body, clasping his hands against the small of the blonde's back.  
  
**Stop. Stop now. Stop right now, this is wrong, you're going to get killed, you're going to hurt him, you are NOT in love. Nicholas D. Wolfwood does NOT fall in love.**  
  
Vash's body was not warm - it was almost unnaturally cool, like metal under the moons, and tasted slightly metallic to boot. Wolfwood pressed his mouth to the blonde's Adam's apple and breathed in softly, feeling Vash shift nervously at the contact, the soft body pressed against his own. "Nick- What are you doing?"  
  
"...sssh.....let me see you..."  
  
Wolfwood kissed his prize again, closing his eyes and ignoring the screaming voices of reason in the back of his mind. He didn't need such things, such rules and regulations, what he needed was those lips against his own, yielding and wet and open - to hell with the world. He had *this*.. They kissed again, and Wolfwood tangled his hands in soft blonde hair that had not been spiked for weeks, as Vash's arms looped around his shoulders, the cold of his touch welcome after so many nights of delirium. He tasted sweet, gentle - and as Vash opened before him Wolfwood poured himself into that kiss, feeling nothing but the soft pressure of lips and tongue, needing nothing else. It connected them. The kiss, unlike the words and games they played, unlike Wolfwood's identity and Vash's smile, was a complete and utter truth.  
  
Breathless the priest pulled away and began unbuttoning Vash's shirt, eyes narrow in concentration, though his vision was so blurry that telling buttons apart from fabric became increasingly difficult. Once it was through, he slipped his hands against Vash's chest and lay his head back on the shivering shoulder, eyes closing.  
  
He began touching, seeking then, as he had dreamed of doing for so long, exploring what he had only seen from afar at the most intimate level imaginable. Calloused fingertips pressed down the ridged scars and mapped out each marring of the perfect skin, committing it to memory. The scars were individual, and each one was weakness that Wolfwood was bringing to light in that musty room, his fingers charting the rough outcroppings of flesh and dipping into the puckered swells. Vash's reaction was tense at first, even frightened by the sudden intimacy, but a moment later he was relaxing, pressing closer as Wolfwood continued, murmuring softly under his breath.  
  
There, across his breast, a metal grate, smooth and slick and frigid against his skin. Wolfwood probed, fingers detecting the tiny screws that held the smooth metal in place, fingering along the ruptured flesh along the outside, tough and dead tissue that had built up around the metal intrusion. His touch skittered along the thin, fine slash marks across Vash's stomach and the remnants of long-removed stitches that lined the wounds, then graced against the ragged slash trail across his other breast, measuring the depth with a knuckle and caressing bone within the valley of skin - Vash moaned and shivered against him, lips parted in surprise.  
  
This was *Vash*. This was the being beneath the trench coat. Not quite human, not quite adult, not quite a child and not quite dead.  
  
Blindly Wolfwood ran his hand down one good arm and one metal one, tasting a portion of each. The metal was curious, shaped in a mockery of a human limb and yet dreadfully wrong - and when he relinquished the fingers, both of Vash's hands came to rest on his shoulders, where they squeezed gently. "Wolfwood, you..."  
  
His breath caught as the priest discovered the hard bolts in his back, spun a finger around them in a gentle loop and kissed the scar across his collarbone. The touch was curious and questioning and gentle.... Vash tilted his head back and buried his cheek in Wolfwood's hair, his breathing dancing along the curve of the priest's ears as he sought for purchase against the other man's bare chest. His motions confused, distracted, pained as if the mere touch was ripping open scarcely healed past wounds  
  
Wolfwood found a span of smooth skin, pressed his palm there and held it for a moment, then tickled downwards across the edge of Vash's shoulder blades and to the small of his back. Paused for a moment in deliberation at his spine- go lower, or remain on that tantalizing portion of whole flesh? He knew Vash would let him possess him completely, but could he? Sex would damn him completely, it was the point from which he could never return...  
  
He stayed, as tears dampened his neck and trailed down his shoulder. "Why are you crying?"  
  
Vash's lips moved against his ear, and Wolfwood opened his eyes again, squinting and seeing nothing but blue-lilted gold. And tears. Too many. He closed his eyes again, and elected to simply hold Vash in the darkness, rather than stare at the pain in his eyes. "Why are you crying?"  
  
The blonde buried his head against Wolfwood's shoulder, his fingers tightening fractionally around the taller man's body. "It hurts so much to love you."  
  
Wolfwood curled Vash tighter against him and sighed softly into his hair. If he had been less jaded, he would have been crying - because he had failed at everything he had set out to do. How could he hurt the vulnerable man locked in his arms there in the darkness? Was there any hope of survival that didn't involve blood - or pain - shed by this one man? "Tongari.... I'm going to break your heart."  
  
It was true. Unquestionable as the scars.  
  
"I know," Vash whispered.  
  
There was nothing more to say, though neither of them strayed from the other's arms until morning.  
  
~~~~  
I'm a walking nightmare, an arsenal of doom  
I kill conversation as I walk into the room  
I'm a three line whip  
I'm the sort of thing they ban  
I'm a walking disaster  
I'm a demolition man  
~~~~ 


	11. Sometimes I see nothing but you

Notes from Tomo:  
  
  
^____^ I am *so* on a roll - I just sat down tonight and produced eight pages of trippy Wolfwood angst...I really like this chapter, it gave my shivers - a word of advice, good music to listen to while reading would be 'Sunlit Garden' from Utena down until Wolfwood starts dreaming, then put on 'Perfect Night', Legato's theme, and it's pretty creepy. Or at least it should be, as I was listening to that when I wrote it.  
  
Now, I shall respond to reviews, something I should have done a loooooooong while ago.  
  
Princess of Pain - AHAHAHAHA! I'm going to hold you to that promise. ) Start writing that sequel, oh master of comedy, and I promise this fic will go on for quiiiiite some time...  
Hentai no Miko - ^____^ I appreciated your e-mail so much...I hope this chapter lives up to everything else. ^#^ Honestly now, I'm going to develop an ego if you're not careful.  
Youji3KK - Thanks so much for the commentary on and off of the Trigun Yaoi mailing list. ^___^ You've reviewed most of my stories so kindly...  
justareader - I know, I know. ^-~  
Everyone else - ^####^ Saaaa-n-kyuuuu~  
  
  
And now, the Fic!  
  
  
~~~~  
Everywhere I go I see your face  
Every sound I hear is the sound of your voice  
Why are you haunting me?  
Why are you haunting me -   
Why can't I let you go?  
  
So everything about me is a lie  
Or at least it seems that way  
When I look into your eyes  
The truth scares the shit out of me  
  
[Haunting Me - Stabbing Westward]  
~~~~  
  
  
The girl's eyes were lowered, and she was worrying her lower lip with her teeth in an almost petulant expression, one that made Wolfwood instinctively want to hug her - she was so young, and bearing such a weight... Via wrung her hands and then flashed Vash and Wolfwood a weak smile, as if apologizing for her own emotions - it reminded the priest, oddly enough, of Vash. "Do you have to go? I don't think-"  
  
Vash's hands were soft on her shoulders, and he smiled, a wry expression that was, despite it's carefully concealed bitterness, honest. "You know we do, Via." For a moment the silence was awkward, and then Vash's eyes filled with regret and the girl beside him buckled, landing in a pool of homespun cotton on the dusty road. The blonde went down next to her, his arms wrapped around her shoulders and stroking the small of her back with all the comfort he could manage.  
  
Wolfwood smoked his cigarette.  
  
The last few days had been long - and, Wolfwood privately admitted, he had utterly enjoyed them. Via was a smart girl, and once her patient had been able to see again, she had offered them the guest room in her already crowded home, where Wolfwood and Vash had taken up residence.  
  
With five brothers and sisters, there had always been little people underfoot, and that had kept Wolfwood and Vash apart physically, but the priest was almost uncomfortable with the level of mental rapport he had achieved with Vash. After all, when one was chasing a target, it wasn't *right* to understand the way they moved or be able to predict little things - part of Wolfwood embraced that for the very fact that it *was* wrong, and sinful, and it made him feel so good to guess where delicious aquamarine orbs would fall next -   
  
The children had been a blessing in the last few days. Wolfwood had always felt he performed better before an audience, and with five pairs of inquisitive eyes trained on his actions and words, the best had been brought to light. Wolfwood had returned to what he had left behind years before - a life of playing with children, complimenting them on the too-sugary tea they created in hopes of being praised, of throwing balls gentle enough that they could be caught with one hand and moving in *just the right way* to be struck by an errant tagging hand. And, Wolfwood noticed as Vash whispered a soft apology into Via's ear, he and the blonde had moved together then, too, as they did in their fighting - they knew, without glancing at one another, how to diffuse arguments between tired siblings in a house with too few adults and too little space.  
  
They had kissed once, while bringing in buckets of water from the well outside the house. A clumsy peck on the cheek and a gentle squeeze of a shoulder - that was all. No touch. Nothing more than those eyes, trailing along his back...  
  
Via was still crying, her cheeks puffy and red, and her brothers and sisters could be seen with their faces to the glass windows of the small cabin they inhabited. Yes, it had been nice to forget his mission for a few weeks - after all, Wolfwood had not been able to go out in full daylight and even now his eyes would get sore after a few hours behind his heavy black glasses... But having children around....  
  
"Shh, it's alright, you'll be fine - "  
  
"I want you to stay!"  
  
"You're a big girl, Via," Vash had a way of speaking that made it feel like he knew your soul through and through - he kissed Via on her hairline and rocked her gently in the sand. "I know you're worried about your brothers and sisters... It's alright. You love them, and everything will be alright if you hold on to that!"  
  
**How can he preach that?** Wolfwood wondered, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth against his cigarette. **After Knives, he believes in loving siblings like that? That's impossible. He had to be lying, nobody is that naive, that...forgiving-**  
  
Even as he stared at Vash's figure, he knew that was not true. Because only *Vash* could love so much. Only Vash would believe something that had shoved his pride into the dirt and destroyed those he loved.  
  
It made Wolfwood *very* angry.  
  
Flicking his cigarette to the ground and stamping it out was an action that clearly read 'let's-get-the-hell-out-of-here', Wolfwood watched with a quirked scowl as Vash helped Via up again and brushed her hair back into place with a brotherly hand, then smiled winningly at her. The girl scrubbed at her eyes and looked guiltily up at Wolfwood - she had no idea was a falsity she was being fed. The priest clenched his fingers tightly at his side and smiled weakly, trying his best to dissipate the anger Vash's empty words had brought to mind. "....could..."  
  
"Yes?" The priest asked softly, licking his lips.  
  
"Could you at least tell me your real name before you go?" she was playing with her hands again, running a fingertip over the knuckles and looking up shyly, as if she was afraid of being reprimanded. "..So I know who I can remember?"  
  
"You know my name, hon... Nicholas. Anything more than that would just hurt you," Wolfwood had no trouble saying that, though Vash's flinched over the girl's shoulder. **What, would he rather tell her who we are and make her a target? He of all people should know that lies are sometimes necessary!** The priest reached out and ruffled her hair with an ash-flecked hand, seeking out Vash's eyes with his own - nothing, the blonde looked away, hiding from the condemnation in Wolfwood's gaze. What did this girl have to grow up to? The thought snaked through his mind before he could blink, and Wolfwood's eyes narrowed slightly as he thought of the possibilities - Via would end up another poor child in the gutter, homeless - she would undoubtedly lose possession of her siblings once people realized how they were living. Prostitution? Probably. Drugs? Maybe. Liquor? Could be. Her life would darken and die, snuffed out like the stars in the morning's light - what could he say, knowing how she would end up? How could Vash promise her so much more, when desperately wanting something and never receiving it was worse than never hoping at all? They both knew the pain of that all too well...  
  
"Good luck."  
  
There was a difference between his goodbye and Vash's, a very key, subtle sort of separation that they all could feel, though not even Via could speak it out loud. Wolfwood was saying *goodbye.* He would never see her again, never play soccer with her little siblings - but Vash's was a so-long, a goodbye that promised a future meeting, full of hope. It was saying "Let's see where we are ten years down the line, let's see what has changed and what will be." Wolfwood's... well..  
  
The priest turned and eyed the bike they had bought with the money Vash had earned serving tables, a cheap affair with a side cart and a sand-rusted engine. It probably wouldn't carry them further than New Oregon, but that was far enough, he supposed. Vash was not a planning man, and it neither was Wolfwood, and an amount of uncertainty made things more interesting - maybe that was why they dared to want each other so badly?  
  
He reached for his helmet without a backwards glance.  
  
~~~~  
  
On their first night in New Oregon, they rented out a hotel room and hit the bars, getting comfortably smashed out of their minds for the first time in weeks. It felt good, Wolfwood reflected as they staggered back to their hotel (arms looped just a *little* to intimately around one another to be innocent) to forget oneself in alcohol after such an experience. Relief in a pretty brown bottle, that loosened the tongue and one's inhibitions. Warm.  
  
They returned to the room together and stood in the doorway for a long moment before Vash pushed inwards and Wolfwood joined him at the table by the window.  
  
More whiskey was produced, glasses poured, toasts raised until Vash had half-collapsed and Wolfwood had to drag him towards the single bed, ignoring the electricity a casual brush of Vash's sleepy fingers sent through his body, centering down his spine and making his hair stand on end. The blonde couldn't have noticed - his eyes were vague and his expression exhausted, cheeks ruddy with his drinking and raucous laughter - and Wolfwood absently ran a hand down his cheek. "Hold still," he told the blonde, and began undressing him.  
  
The buttons came away beneath his fingers and Wolfwood smiled faintly as Vash shrugged his shoulders back like an obedient puppy, letting the cloth fall free and the scars feel the light of the low lamps. The priest folded the shirt and set to work on Vash's pants, pulling them down without another glance, smiling at the boxers - patterned with an arcane green four-leafed plant that Wolfwood had never seen growing anywhere. Hard to believe that Vash the Stampede wore something like that under his proud trench coat!  
  
Of course, the coat had been missing for quite some time, but that was beside the point.  
  
Vash was leaning gently against Wolfwood's shoulders, shoulders sagging with sleep, his breath whooshing softly between his parted lips. Reaching out, Nicholas D. ran his fingers into the mess of spiky gold and loosened them from their locked position at the top of his friend's head, letting them fall in a fluffy mass that was still slightly sticky from grease. Vash managed to murmur a little purr of appreciation before settling back against the covers, tucking one hand under his chin and throwing the other one across the pillow.  
  
Why was it becoming so much easier to see the beauty in Vash than hate the innocence? Why were the obstacles between them disappearing like so much morning mist, though they remained as deadly and potent as ever? Was it Wolfwood's resolve that was weakening and breaking...?  
  
Wolfwood returned to the window. He could feel a presence in the town that made him uneasy - it was almost like Legato, but weaker, less glaringly evil. It could be that the telepath was suppressing his powers - but why? And why would he be here of all people when his proximity threw Wolfwood in danger of letting some hint of his secret slip free?  
  
He ran a finger around the rim of his bottle of liquor and thought long and hard, getting drunker and drunker as he did so, watching the scarred fifth moon rise over the dusty city-scape and cast a blood-red glow over the streets below, forming dancing, surreal patterns throughout the buildings.  
  
At last he stripped off his jacket, his shirt, his shoes and socks and pulled on a pair of sweat pants, then crawled into bed next to Vash, who was cool and soft between the sheets next to him. The blonde's body seemed to almost absorb heat, so sweet was it - almost inhuman. Yes, inhuman. Wolfwood closed his eyes for a moment and then reached an arm out, tucking it over the rise of Vash's hips and letting it fall innocently against the sheets - Vash shifted, face turning upwards towards the heat of his bed mate - and Wolfwood smiled, pressing his face into the blonde's neck. Inhaling the delicate perfection-  
  
He couldn't ruin this moment. He couldn't hurt this man. What a hell it was to live like this, so close and always so far, knowing that Vash would *have* him, that Vash even *loved* him, but... **I'm too dark. I'm too evil. I'm a tool of the one man that hates him for *who* he is and not just because he bears the name 'Vash the Stampede'... And no matter what I do I'll shatter his heart.**   
  
If he told the truth, Vash would know he was merely a pawn of Knives, and would always question his honesty. Not to mention that Knives would probably make Wolfwood wish he had never been born... If the priest didn't tell, Vash would be rejected by the one person that knows him through and through, and that...that would hurt Vash so deeply it might never heal. Wolfwood couldn't bear being the source of one of the mental scars ingrained on Vash's gentle conscience. He *wouldn't* do that, of all things, leave Vash with another nightmare in the night... He wanted to be more than just another face, but... It was terrifying, what Legato could do, let alone Knives. It was terrifying to see the depth of the misery in Vash's eyes and know that he could alleviate some of that if he were only brave enough to try. It was terrible to know that no matter which way he turned, the glass he stood on was so delicately thin that cracks were already beginning to chip and grow and the world would soon, so very soon, fall away from beneath his feet...  
  
Wolfwood had once been in a small town, one that had many books and even old scrolls from before the fall of the Seeds ships. In one of them he could remember reading a phrase and scoffing at it even then - 'It is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all.'  
  
That was sappy. That was the kind of crap Vash believed in. That was....completely untrue...  
  
Wolfwood snuggled closer and wondered.  
  
~~~~  
Why are you haunting me?  
Why are you haunting me?  
Why are you haunting me?  
Why are you haunting me?  
  
Whoever said love is blood and love is real  
Has never felt the way I feel  
What does it matter?  
What's done is done and I should  
Get on with my life....  
~~~~  
  
  
The woman tilted her head and offered him a flower, a thin red thing with heart shaped leave that were ringed with darkness. Wolfwood took it, surprised - he had yet to see her with any sort of flowers, the land they stood in was nothing but pale waves of gold and skies of opalescent blue-green... "What's this?" He asked softly, surprised by the soft, almost fuzzy texture of the light green leaves, soft.... He had never known a flower was such a smooth, silky thing.  
  
She smiled at him, the smile of a mother and a sister, and began to explain. Before a word could escape coral lips, though, the fabric of her shirt let out a resounding rip and burst forth - Wolfwood dropped the blossom and leapt to one side as a wave of liquid darkness exploded from her breast, then began pouring from her mouth and ears - it slithered and pooled in the golden grass, obliterating all. The skies darkened to the color of pitch, and Wolfwood caught only a glimpse of wide brown eyes before she disappeared completely in the coal colored night.  
  
A long, pristine coat, a whisper in his ear, slithering through his brain and embracing the corners of his mind. Words that tempted and coiled like a snake, in a soft, disturbingly gentle tone, a voice like poisoned silk. "Hello, Nicholas D. Wolfwood."  
  
Wolfwood stood as tall as he could, reaching for the cross that remained on his back at every moment and the security it promised - it was gone, devoured by the dark of his dream-turned-nightmare. The voice came again and a hand pressed against his shoulder, sending shivers of paranoia down his spine - the priest turned, and nobody was there, just the soft breeze and an amused laugh. "You have not reported in quite some time."  
  
Another hand, against the small of his back - Wolfwood spun on one heel and came face to face with accusatory mahogany eyes, framed with dark hair. Midvalley cracked a slow, languid grin and met his gaze. "Chapel."  
  
"Midvalley." So many things to say, so many questions to ask - "Why the hell are you depriving me of my sleep?" The priest demanded, scowling as Midvalley took a step back, his suit spotless and perfect.  
  
This time the hand was on his shoulder, and a glowing pair of golden eyes filled the night. They were the same color as the fields Wolfwood had traveled in moments before, just before the black had overcome them - but sickly and twisted. Those eyes were not the gold of the sun, they were the gold of a forged blade, the gold of sand after it had been scored clean and smooth in the blasting winds of the desert - hands clawed down Wolfwood's shirt, though Legato didn't move.  
  
**He's fucking with my mind,** he reminded himself. It was always this way.  
  
"We need your report, Chapel." Legato spoke, and his hand curled possessively around Midvalley's shoulder, slipping down his arm and coming to a pause against the lapel of his suit.  
  
The musician's expression was glazed. Scared, but at the same time almost hungry for a touch, for anything - Wolfwood felt dirty just witnessing such a look, and he glared hard, sending daggers of disgust towards Midvalley. Hadn't they always been together, against Legato and Knives? Hadn't they first become friends because they were kindred souls, moths trapped in the web of the spider - not good enough to be butterflies, but still able to fly?  
  
The hand snaked lower, and Midvalley's lips parted, his expression flashing almost smug for a moment. Wolfwood spoke. "The target was injured in a sandworm attack. We loitered until he could heal and then moved on. I was wounded as well and we were cared for in the town of Mesa." Like he would ever tell Legato the real location of all those children...  
  
Mental images were necessary, and Wolfwood steeled himself for the invasion of Legato's probing mind, slick with mental filth as it delved into his brain and pried out images. Vash falling. Vash hurt. Wolfwood's own injuries, the recovery - the priest clung to his moments with Vash doggedly and though Legato seemed suspicious, he did not insist on prying them from his mind.  
  
And then he was left staggering and gasping as his mind was drained of the groping foreign touch and Legato pulled back. A long moment of silence, and Midvalley's eyes caught Wolfwood's own -   
  
And suddenly, Wolfwood knew. Midvalley...  
  
No. Impossible. It had never been love to him, a game, maybe even a convenient tool at times, but their relationship had never been love.  
  
How could Midvalley...  
  
Those chocolate eyes promised one thing, one resolution alone. They told Wolfwood that as he had found love in another, Midvalley would do the same. Twin pools of deep brown, a portal to a terrified soul that -   
  
**Stop it, Midvalley,** Wolfwood wanted to scream as the musician tilted his head and let Legato set his chin against his soft neck. The telepath's eyes were slitted with satisfaction as he kissed Midvalley's skin once and then smiled broadly, flashing obscenely white teeth with a cat-like sigh. Disgusting, completely disgusting in his satisfaction with the knowledge that he was stealing something precious away from both the priest and the musician, that even if they saw one another again, after this nothing could be the same - **Let go of him. Punch him. Don't let him touch you....don't fucking let him touch you...**  
  
The old Midvalley would have done that at such a touch, had done that each time the raping of his body and mind had occurred. Would have screamed, raised hell until Legato had either knocked him unconscious or given him something to bite against to quell the pain - The old Midvalley would have sworn. Would not have rolled back against the black-and-white contrast of the taller man's stark cloak. Would never have been a toy in a dream. Would not have...  
  
"Midvalley," Wolfwood's voice was measured and strained, dangerously close to cracking. "Midvalley-"  
  
"Please file your reports on time, Chapel," the musician whispered, eyes narrowing for a moment, just long enough for Wolfwood to realize the truth behind his broken will - broken heart, broken mind, broken - "We will not tolerate slacking."  
  
Broken heart, broken will, broken mind, broken neck - Wolfwood fell backwards, reaching out, slipping through the darkness like the moon into clouds -   
  
~~~~  
He woke up. Sticky with sweat and shivering, but still, he was awake and for the moment away from Legato's mind games.  
  
Wolfwood wanted to throw up, in fact - he rolled over and struggled to the edge of the bed, dry heaving as he went. All the liquor from early seemed to boil in his stomach as he broke into a sweat and pressed his forehead hard against the headboard of the bed in a vain attempt to distract himself from the nausea.  
  
Midvalley had broken. That meant he was as good as dead - no, better *off* dead. Those eyes had been so accusing, he could almost hear the words - because they had been partners, they had been lovers, and now that Wolfwood had found solace elsewhere there was nobody for Midvalley to turn to...  
  
Years it had been. Mental rape. Physical rape. Torture, that together they had borne, each for their own private reasons. The lowest degradations possible to a human, coupled with obscene words and treatment and the knowledge that it was impossible to *be* lower than they were, to be more sinful, more deadly. Wolfwood had borne it for the children. Midvalley...had reasons. Wolfwood had never known what, but when they were together it was possible to pretend that some portion of their souls was still human enough to rebel, and even if it was only two men swearing drunkenly for revenge after a long, hard day, it had been something that gaurded against the memories of probing fingers and mental laughter. Protection, safety in numbers - together. When Wolfwood had left, they had parted and there had been no sweet goodbyes or lingering kisses, just a handshake, firm and quick and simple. And a promise. 'I'll come back.'  
  
And a response, too serious, too foreshadowing. 'No, you won't.'  
  
They had known it wouldn't last. Both of them. They had always known it, and that was why Wolfwood had never let the chains around his heart go free - because love then and there was impossible and dangerous. Because he felt nothing for Midvalley.... appreciation of his views. His companionship, the love of a drinking partner, but it had been nothing more. Had it?  
  
And now....  
  
Midvalley had broken.  
  
Wolfwood made a diving leap over Vash's figure and managed to make it to the bathroom before he was sick.  
  
~~~~  
Well I don't know what it is  
But I can't seem to make myself forget  
Was it something that you said  
Or is it all the guilt inside my head  
Why are you haunting me?  
Why are you haunting me?  
Why are you haunting me?  
Why are you haunting me?  
~~~~ 


	12. Sometimes it scares me

  
  
~~~~  
I'll tell you something  
I am a wolf but  
I like to wear sheep's clothing   
I am a bonfire  
I am a vampire  
I'm waiting for my moment   
  
[Temptation Waits - Garbage]  
~~~~  
  
All Wolfwood could think was that Vash the Stampede was the most pathetic fool he had ever met. His mind ran around in circles but it all came down to that, as the miserable sobs met his ears - Vash was a fool, fool, fool. How many people could manage to get roughed up while the battle was being broadcast to an entire city, whispering their ideals while getting the shit beaten out of themselves? The priest stabbed angrily a the bowl of ramen in his arms as Vash's protest rang out.  
  
"Don't kill him! Don't kill him!"  
  
Vash was an idiot. Gritting his teeth, Wolfwood tried to block out the sounds of the beating above, the sickening sound of flesh on flesh and then the crunch of a body into control panels... *Damn* him. Why the hell had Vash had to do this, throw himself into the middle of everything?  
  
Why did he have to be so stupid? Why did he have do be such a fucking angel, saving everyone all the time?  
  
The bowl in his hands cracked and Wolfwood snapped an obscenity as hot soup coursed down his hand, burning the skin.  
  
He had never loved someone in the way he loved Vash. Because *he did* love that blonde, no matter how many barriers he erected around his heart, the Stampede had shoved them aside.  
  
And when Vash retreated from the building, and the crowd ebbed fearfully around him, refusing to meet his eyes, Wolfwood stood, stepping over the cracked remains of his bowl of ramen and coming to Vash's side. Offering a hand. Sliding his arm around the blonde's waist and helping him stand because nobody else could bring themselves to care...  
  
Nobody but two girls, one tall and one quite short, appeared out of the crowd of people.  
"M...Mister priest! Mister priest!"  
  
"VASH!"  
  
~~~~  
~~~~  
  
The suns were setting.  
  
Like paint sloshed across the landscape of the world, touching everything and brushing across the planet, brushing and warm. It glowed and Wolfwood couldn't help but noticing the way it played across Vash and pulled him into it's light, his yellow spikes and peachy skin blending with the sky far more than the priest had thought possible. He was...natural. A part of things in a way that the shorter insurance woman next to him was not.  
  
Wolfwood shifted as she handed Vash a handkerchief and he pressed it to his swollen cheek, saying nothing to her. Simply sitting by his side, her gaze ever so often flickering across his as they watched the suns set.  
  
It was painfully obvious to Wolfwood that Meryl was in love with him, and when Milly tugged on his sleeve and whispered that they should leave the two alone, he reluctantly gave in, wondering to himself. Vash...  
  
It settled heavily in the pit of Wolfwood's stomach in a way that disgusted him, and made him slightly angry. He had no right to care about who Vash chose to spend time with, and it would certainly be better for both of them if Vash would fall in love with another... But that heavy, aching feeling would not go away, it simply coiled about in the pit of his stomach, foreign. What was it?  
  
"Mister Priest?"  
  
"Yeah, pretty lady?" Wolfwood drawled, glancing over at Milly. The girls had found a small car that would seat the four of them, and insisted that Vash use that instead of Wolfwood's rickety bike. Wolfwood had responded that no, Vash could stay with him and the girls could manage the car on their own, and Vash had listened silently before killing the debate by flopping down in the dirt and staring into the suns.  
  
That apathy made the priest nervous. "Has Mister Vash been this sad all the while we were gone?" Milly asked, eyes wide with fear. "He..."  
  
"Nah," Wolfwood looped an arm around her shoulders and was rewarded with a faint blush and a timid smile, one that made him smirk around his cigarette. "Tongari only gets depressed when he has to see the way the world really is. Most of the time he can ignore it."  
  
Milly gave him a worried look, and Wolfwood ruffled her hair absently - she smelled soft and warm, in a way that Vash didn't - she felt human. He liked that, it reminded him of his home - and with that reminder of other times came the familiar satisfaction of seeing a woman smile, of embarrassing and teasing.  
  
Flirting.  
  
Made him think of Midvalley, for some reason.  
  
Wolfwood closed his eyes, hidden behind the thick black of his sunglasses and tried to force the weight of the past away.  
  
How could Vash bear it at all?  
  
~~~~  
You come on like a drug  
I just can't get enough  
I'm like an addict coming at you for a little more  
and there's so much at stake  
I can't afford to waste  
I've never needed anybody like this before   
~~~~  
  
"No...n-no...please..."  
  
Nicholas D. Wolfwood woke that night, and for a long moment he wasn't sure what had jerked him out of slumber. Blinking blearily it took him a moment to realize that he was on the floor, not at all wrapped in the warm covers, and that Vash was moaning harshly into his pillow.  
  
"Don't..."  
  
The priest blinked, then swore. That stupid blonde had *kicked* him off the bed, after the miserable two hours it had taken him to finally get to sleep! With a grunt he pulled himself up, head spinning and mouth sour, ready to all but throw Vash back to the other side of the bed.  
  
"....Knives...."  
  
Wolfwood froze as that name was breathed into the room, bringing a cold rush to the pit of his stomach. Slowly, unable to move faster than what certainly seemed like a crawl, Wolfwood turned and stared hard at Vash, his heart racing.  
  
"Brother...stop, please - please - no..." Vash's fists were balled, his knees tucked up close, and tears were speckling the corners of his eyes - mouth half-parted, cheeks flushed, and his moans far, far too obscene for Wolfwood's mind to ignore.  
  
Swearing at the effect the sound had on him, Wolfwood pushed Vash back against the covers and settled down on the bed next to him, holding his temples in his hands. It didn't appear that he would be getting any sleep tonight...  
  
The blonde had simply turned those aquamarine eyes on him, more deadly than any gun, and Wolfwood had cracked - 'I'm cold,' he'd said, 'stay with me?' and the priest had been unable to formulate a response and had instead settled on the cushions next to Vash, damned to listening to soft breathing until his body could calm enough to relax into sleep - and now he was awake again thanks to Vash's overactive imagination!  
  
He ground his teeth with irritation until Vash let out a muffled shout into his pillow and bucked sharply, bringing his waist against Wolfwood's back - the priest's eyes widened impossibly as he realized what had just brushed against him, painfully obvious with only the cloth of Vash's boxers between him and Wolfwood's backside. The *hell?*  
  
At the exact same time, a little piece fell into place. Wolfwood, with a rush of shock that bordered on illness, realized what Vash was dreaming about, and part of the reason why he was running from Knives with all of his soul.  
  
"Wake up!" Wolfwood turned, ignoring the heat against his thigh and the burning, disgusted thoughts that were filling his mind, "Vash, wake up! Tongari, you fucking idiot, wake up right now-"  
  
"STOP!" A broad right cross sent Wolfwood slamming across the floor, his head cracking sharply into the night stand next to the bed. For a long moment there was utter silence as Vash shifted against the sheets, then Wolfwood opened his mind and managed to focus on the terrified look on the blonde's face.  
  
"Jeez, you can punch," the priest whispered.  
  
Vash let out a sort of half-sob, and fell back into the covers, rolling over until he was pressed against the far wall, as far from his companion. He wrapped himself tightly in the covers of the bed while Wolfwood shakily stood, the agony in his head redoubling over again.  
  
With a grunt, the priest fumbled in the drawer of the night stand and withdrew a bottle of painkillers, the rattling of pills shockingly loud in the silent room. Downing four, Wolfwood staggered to the side of the bed and stared down at Vash with narrow eyes, grinding his teeth once more.  
  
What a day it had been. First that damned steamer, then the two girl who had insisted they travel on, exhausted to the next town - then the sleepless stretch of time as Wolfwood had adjusted to Vash's nearness and now *this*, finding out that the man filling his every waking obsession had some sort of sexual relationship with the only other inhuman, immortal creature on the planet - his brother.  
  
Okay. So he had...with Knives. That could be accepted, given a bit of time to really think about it... Wolfwood gritted his teeth at the mental images provided by that thought - Vash had said that the man he loved had changed, and if what Wolfwood suspected was true, that was one hell of an understatement. It was seemingly impossible to think that Knives was that man... Knives. His brother. And yet...  
  
It had to be true.  
  
Knives had a sense of possession around him, the way he had spoken of Vash on the rare occasions that Wolfwood had come face to face with him... It had sent shivers down his spine all that time ago, and now that he understood, it made him feel sick all over again. "Vash."  
  
Shaking shoulders, bruised cheeks, soft gold, the faint sound of crying that was being muffled by a scarred fist. Synthetic fingers eerily still as the rest of his body shook and trembled, shaking in the sheets.   
  
A moment passed and Wolfwood again took up a position on the bed, ignoring the burning of his cheek where Vash's blow had connected. He stared down at his hands for a few seconds, and then looked back up, licking his lips. There where so many things he wanted to say and ask and *understand*, but at the same time - asking them might push Vash further and further away from him. **I want him to be pushed away,** he automatically corrected himself, and grimaced at that response. He...He should push Vash away, he could do it now by simply not inquiring about the nightmare, by simply standing and walking five feet across the room to the other small bed and sleeping there for the rest of the night. By all rights that was the safest route, and yet- ....and yet.... "Vash. Are you alright?"  
  
A long sob, and then a trembling response. "I'm fine."  
  
Wolfwood reached out and pressed his fingers into the cool arch of Vash's shoulder, and the older man shuddered furiously. "Please don't," he whispered. For a moment Wolfwood paused, then resumed the touch, squeezing gently against Vash's bare skin.  
  
"Tell me about it, tongari," he asked, in the kindest of available tones. It was the one he used with the youngest, most petulant children back home, and when coupled with his gaze it was a more than effective tool.  
  
Vash shifted, and Wolfwood moved closer, reaching out and pressing a hand to his forehead. Vash's eyes snapped open and he glanced wildly up at Wolfwood, who flashed him a calm, warm smile - and the blonde seemed to melt in his arms, the resistance he had been offering cracking slightly. "It was just...a nightmare," he said at last. "Someone...I used to know, was..."  
  
Wolfwood leaned back against the headboard and pulled Vash upwards - squeaking in muffled embarrassment, Vash protested for a moment then ceased immediately as warm arms were slipped carefully around his bare shoulders. It was not an intimate touch, but it was thoughtful, and the blonde seemed to appreciate that as he pressed himself closer against Wolfwood's body, sighing gustily.  
  
"Why do you...."  
  
The priest wasn't sure what Vash was going to ask, but questions of any kind were something to be avoided - especially when he didn't know half the answers himself. "Doesn't matter." **At least he's not crying anymore,** Wolfwood thought to himself, and continued to rub the area between tongari's shoulder blades with long, thick fingers. "Do you think you'll be able to sleep again?"  
  
"Mmm," Vash murmured, a soft purr starting up in the back of his throat as Wolfwood's gentle caress continued, "if you stay," he added, burrowing closer, his head settled against the nook of Wolfwood's shoulders.  
  
The priest set his head back against the hardwood headboard and swore softly to himself, sarcasm dripping from his mental tone. Why did he have to make everything difficult?! **Way to push him away, Nicholas D. Wolfwood.... You must have a fuckin' death wish.**  
  
~~~~  
I'll tell you something  
I am a demon  
Some say my biggest weakness  
I have my reasons  
Call it my defense  
Be careful what you're wishing   
~~~~  
  
He was trembling, the ripples of combined fear and helplessness beginning in small muscular contractions in his stomach and moving outwards until he was shivering terribly, unable to stop the waves wracking his body.  
  
A sob, bittersweet, scared. And hands picking at his shoulders, fingers shaking too hard to close around anything, clumsy with fear as Wolfwood watched, unable to reach the figure.  
  
A second person.  
  
Blonde. Short hair, cropped and thick, eyes iced over and far too familiar for Wolfwood's sanity - he backed up, heart pounding as the young boy on the floor glanced up and stared through tear-thick lashes.  
  
Knives....  
  
"Knives?"  
  
"Vash," the taller boy purred, and was suddenly on the ground, eyes slitted with pleasure, satisfaction, and something that rang out as utter fulfillment, and all of it was twisted in spiraling loops around Vash's trembling body. Wolfwood sensed what was about to happen, and reached out even as Knives parodied his motion and cupped Vash's chin between his fingertips.  
Lips on his own, hands against the small of his back, the powerful weight of Knives against his chest, and he could see-  
  
-Vash crying-  
  
-lips, hands, arms tangled-  
  
-Vash screaming-  
  
-a kiss, long and languid, sweetened-  
  
-Vash loving-  
  
-Sun, sand, the desert sky and blood-  
  
'You....shot me...'  
  
-Vash running-  
And Wolfwood knew, understood with a rush of anger and something that bordered on sympathy. "Is that why you want him back....?" The boy, young and small with hints of baby flesh clinging to his frame, looked up and met his eyes. For a moment they connected -   
  
Wolfwood felt his mind was being burned by those furious, damned eyes - he was dangerously close to screaming when Knives finally returned his attention to Vash, kissing slowly up the curve of the perfect porcelain shoulder in a manner that made Wolfwood suppress a wave of stark jealousy.  
  
"Mine mine mine mine mine mine mine..."  
  
The priest watched as first Vash wriggled and struggled, then lay still, then began to slowly move in time with Knives and his brother's none-too-gentle kisses, giving in as Knives broke him in half and made him up again.  
  
And he could see the sand, stained with blood, and hear Vash's footsteps in the distance-  
  
~~~~  
You come on like a drug  
I just can't get enough  
I'm like an addict coming at you for a little more  
and there's so much at stake  
I can't afford to waste  
I've never needed anybody like this before   
You are a secret  
A new possession  
I like to keep you guessing   
~~~~  
  
  
"Vash! Mr. Priest! Are we going to hit the road soon?" Milly asked hopefully, banging on the door of their shabby hotel room. Wolfwood was awake first, rubbing his eyes but refusing to answer, and it was Vash that called back from the bed.  
  
"Yeah, yeah, insurance girl!" the blonde rolled over and rubbed his eyes, yawning cutely as he did so. Wolfwood shifted and groaned into his pillow - he had been dreaming, a nice, gentle one for once (all the others had been horrendous), and certain portions of his anatomy did not feel like it had been much of a dream at all. With a sigh he waited until Vash stood, patiently stretching before the mirror before he made a dash for the bathroom.  
  
It was a hot water morning he decided, as cold water perversely made him think of Vash. With a heavy sigh the priest stripped off his sweat pants and stepped under the steaming flow of water, letting his forehead rest against the tiles of the wall - a dingy yellow floral color, like a faded version of Vash's hair.  
  
Damn it, he was comparing *bathroom tiles* to that damned outlaw. **What the hell is wrong with me?**  
  
It had never been like this before.  
  
Ever.  
  
Reaching for the soap, Wolfwood stopped, heart pounding, as the door to the bathroom slipped open to reveal Vash, his figure distorted by the plasti-glass of the stall's door.  
  
Damn.  
  
**It's fine, he's just gonna take a piss, ignore him.** "Tongari, you ever heard of knocking?" Wolfwood asked, stretching out his arms and squirting a bit of shampoo into his hand. As he ran his fingers across his scalp he watched the blurry body of Vash settled on the toilet seat and begin stripping off his socks, then boxers - then the door to the shower opened.  
  
**Holy mother,** Wolfwood paused in mid-action and stared at Vash, his eyes wide. "Tongari!"  
  
"I thought..." The blonde trailed away and looked down, then met Wolfwood's eyes and smirked slightly - the priest immediately disliked that expression, it almost seemed forced. Those eyes... He was trying hard to look seductive, and failing - and that was strangely attractive in itself. "You were so kind to me last night, I thought you might need some help."  
  
"I've been bathing myself for all these years, I can probably manage-" Wolfwood snapped, backing up again under the spray of the water, all too aware of the effect Vash's body was having on him. Damn it, that was a lie too easily seen through!  
There it was again, a ghost of fear flitting through Vash's eyes. "You don't want me... to?" he asked, voice small.  
  
Want him? Of course Wolfwood wanted him to, he wanted to slam him against the wall and - and - and he couldn't, not after that dream, not knowing that Knives and Legato were watching his every move, not with Midvalley *knowing* how he felt and posing a danger of telling the two watchful devils - how could he? It would *kill* him to touch Vash.  
  
It would kill him to stay alone.  
  
"I want to," he croaked as Vash shifted, "but I can't."  
  
There was one of those pauses that could be cut with only the sharpest of knives - and Wolfwood winced as he thought that. Bad phrasing. **What do I do?** he wondered, Vash was still standing in the open doorway, steam rapidly condensing on his scarred chest as he stared almost petulantly at Wolfwood. Waiting.  
  
"Why?"  
  
Oh, my God. Wolfwood closed his eyes and leaned back against the tiles, wishing Vash away with all of his might, leave me alone, leave me alone- Damn it, all of his barriers were down and he felt as vulnerable as a child! It was as if Vash would read the truth as soon as their eyes met, and he couldn't let that happen - not only would death soon follow him if he spoiled Knives' ploys - but to die betraying Vash, knowing...  
  
It would be better to give in, then? No! He *couldn't* associate with the target. Think of him as the target, the target -   
  
Vash was suddenly beside him, in the shower, very naked and very wet and was running his fingers through Wolfwood's hair. Barely daring to breath, the priest instinctively tucked his head lower, letting long caresses edge across his scalp - and then Vash ducked his head under the water, and he spluttered. "H-hey!"  
  
"Conditioner?" The voice was almost amused as Wolfwood fumbled for the bottle and leaned back against the shower wall, mind racing as quickly as his heart beneath the flow of water.  
  
Okay. Vash was washing his hair, and now Vash was rinsing again, and scrubbing his chest and shoulders with a cloth, his hair damp and dangling in his eyes.  
  
The priest shifted, staring down at Vash's head with a surprised look. The situation had somehow gone from sexual to utterly innocent, and though Wolfwood would be hard pressed to pinpoint the moment the transition had happened he suspected Vash was playing around with his brain. The lingering emotions played at the edges of his mind, but first and foremost was the knowledge that it was Vash's turn, and that while sex was definitely deadly, this might be alright...  
"Aaah!"  
  
Wrapping an arm around the blonde's neck, Wolfwood playfully mussed his hair and ground the shampoo in with thick, affectionate fingers - it smelled of some kind of flower, he wasn't sure what. After all, they all smelled the same, since they were manufactured - but it was a nice scent, and it fit Vash, though Wolfwood had never heard of a rosy-smelling Gung-ho Gun.  
  
He coughed once at the thought and Vash wriggled away, lunging for the complimentary tubes of toiletries at the back of the shower stall.  
  
That lunge began a rather interesting wrestling match for control of the one bar of green soap, Wolfwood holding it high over his head and Vash mercilessly ravaging his torso with tickling fingers. "I didn't know you were so ticklish, Wolfwood," the blonde nearly giggled, rolling the name off of his tongue.  
  
"H-hey! N-not - ahh! - not fair! Cheater!" The soap went flying and Vash scrambled for it, tripping over Wolfwood's leg and winding up with the water spout poking painfully into his back. "Jeez, tongari, you're a walking disaster," Wolfwood laughed softly and surrendered the soap, smiling faintly as Vash tried his best to look disgruntled.  
  
"That's what they say," the blonde responded mildly, flashing Wolfwood a damp, tired smile. The priest felt his heart do an odd little flip-twist, and he groaned inwardly - damn it, but Vash looked cute. Not in the way the insurance girl was cute, but cute in a....jaded way. How the hell did he manage to pull that off?   
  
For that matter, how the hell had Vash gone from seducing him to a tickle war? It was almost like the blonde had been seeking something from Wolfwood, something that wasn't physical - a mental balance, the answer to a question? Had that been what was lingering in Vash's eyes when he opened the door to the shower, something unasked, unsaid? Or had he wanted to touch Wolfwood and see into his mind in the same way Wolfwood had seen Vash's disturbing dreams the night before?  
  
That was another thing the priest was steadfastly ignoring. That dream they had shared.  
  
He opened his mouth to ask the first of his questions, but when he turned around again, Vash was already gone, and the door to the bathroom was ajar. Okay, so he had ended the encounter, but what did it mean? And most importantly:  
  
Why the hell had Vash advanced on him in the first place if he hadn't *really* wanted sex?  
  
What was he looking for?  
  
~~~~  
You come on like a drug  
I just can't get enough  
I'm like an addict coming at you for a little more  
and there's so much at stake  
I can't afford to waste  
I've never needed anybody like this before  
When I'm not sure what I'm living for  
(when I'm not sure what I'm)  
When I'm not sure what I'm looking for  
(when I'm not sure what I'm)  
When I'm not sure what I'm living for  
(when I'm not sure what I'm)  
When I'm not sure what I'm looking for  
(when I'm not sure what I'm)  
When I'm not sure what I'm living for  
When I'm not sure what I'm looking for  
When I'm not sure what I'm living for  
~~~~ 


	13. Sometimes it hurts to smile

  
Aaaah? This one was a boring chapter for me to write... mainly because I had to sit in front of the TV watching my DVDs and writing down all the lines, because I want this fic to be as close to canon as possible. So appreciate that! ^^;; Now that we've started in to the time period the episodes have already delineated, the fanfic will probably move a little slower. I'm not as happy about this chapter as I have been about some other ones, but the sooner it's done, the sooner I can get to to the ending...... So read, and do try to enjoy!  
  
~Tomo  
  
~~~~  
Well someone told me yesterday  
That when you throw your love away  
You act as if you don't care  
You look as if you're going somewhere  
  
But I just can't convince myself  
I couldn't live with no one else  
And I can only play that part  
And sit and nurse my broken heart  
~~~~  
  
"This is a typhoon..." Vash murmured, looking thoughtfully out into the winds, a faint smile o his lips. "It's been a while since I've seen her... one of these."   
  
Wolfwood shifted on the bed and looked up from where he was polishing his guns, taking each methodically out of his cross, reloading, and oiling them. "You've seen one typhoon, you've seen 'em all. And you're a lot better for conversation than the one knocking on our doorstep," he grunted, tapping the bottle of oil and glaring at it when none was forthcoming.   
  
"Thanks, I think," Vash grinned, his smile stretching from ear to ear - Wolfwood cringed at the utter falsity behind it.   
  
He deliberated for a moment, loathe to apologize but seeing no other way to clear that weighted smile from Vash's lips. With a heavy sigh the priest paused in his cleaning and looked up, eyes shaded by dark bangs. "I didn't mean-"   
  
"It's alright. Her name is Jacqueline," Vash told him, matter-of-factly, making Wolfwood raise a brow in surprise.   
  
"Another of your friends?"   
  
"A very old friend."   
  
"Ah." How old was very old to Vash? Wolfwood wondered silently as the shutters clattered and rattled and the wind whooshed by the building with a soft whistle. Standing in the window's frame, backlit and almost-sad, Vash seemed much wiser than Wolfwood could ever hope to be, and much, much older... On a normal day he appeared to be about twenty five, twenty eight, maybe. Certainly not thirty, but how old was he in the years of his race? Or did they even have years?   
  
Wolfwood knew Knives had called them something, something poetic and (he had thought) quite strange. What had it been....?   
  
"I'm going to go see if the girls have anymore oil," Wolfwood murmured, standing up so quickly that Vash jumped in surprise.   
  
"O...Okay."   
  
With a calm demeanor, Wolfwood stepped out of the room and paused in the hallway, clicking the door behind him. As the winds rushed by outside he walked down the hallway of the hotel, his boots clicking heavily against the hardwood floor, a blank expression on his face.  
  
There was a lot to sort out in his mind, so the priest lit up a cigarette and began a systematic search of the hotel, looking for a suitable hiding place. Number one, Vash's games that morning, with his burst of intimacy and then almost shockingly childish play that left Wolfwood feel warm all over. Number two, why he had been so insistent about this hotel and why he had been figiting next to the window all morning...? It was as if he was...waiting.... for what? Something was happening, the priest could feel it in his bones - and thus he stationed himself in a corner of the hotel's lobby in the edge of the lamplight, waiting quietly for Vash to make a move - and Wolfwood was sure that he would.  
  
The room was musty, and any clerks that had been present had vanished when the storm set in - probably retiring to the game room with most of the other residents. Two cigarettes were lit and smoked with appropriately languid breaths and appreciative sighs - the way Wolfwood saw it, there was no way he would live long enough to die of lung cancer, so why not enjoy a little blessing while he had it? Vash hadn't said anything yet - **And won't, if I have anything to say about it.** Commenting on personal habits was a little too intimate for friends - Wolfwood snorted in self-contempt, then froze as footsteps echoed down the hallway next to him. As if anything could be more intimate than what they had shared only hours before!  
  
What had that been, anyway? Vash had appeared so... so.... His eyes had been scared, and Wolfwood was sure the blonde hadn't really wanted sex. So why had he offered himself up like a piece of meat, knowing that Wolfwood would certainly not bother to reign in his feelings in a situation like that?  
  
Gold hair, floppy white sleeves, and Vash was there in the lobby with him. Wolfwood, careful not to shift or breath too loudly watched as the blonde fumbled for his hotel key and unlocked the doors, the wind picking up every moment that he moved. Nervously he checked something in one hand and then gave the door a tremendous shove -   
  
A howling wind immediately filled the lobby of the hotel, and Vash vanished a heartbeat later. No longer fearing discovery, Wolfwood shot back towards his room and slung the cross punisher over one shoulder - by the time he had thrown open the door to the outside, the wind was gushing harder, and Vash was almost out of sight in the roaring waves of sand.  
  
It was difficult work, following him through the storm, but Wolfwood - eyes protected by his sunglasses and the heavy cross weighting him to the ground - steadfastly labored onwards. Sand was burning against his cheeks, and in ignoring the outside world, he very nearly blew his cover completely when Vash finally stopped.  
  
It was too windy to hear what Vash said as he spoke to himself, but Wolfwood was suddenly *very* aware of the blonde's intent as he leaned into the wind, and tensed his legs, and - "SHIT!"  
  
He had jumped.  
He had fucking jumped! "VASH!" Wolfwood was at the edge of the cliff in a heartbeat, staring down at Vash's receding form, cackling in his loudest, most silly-sounding voice. Okay, the priest gulped, it was strange. But Vash was not a suicide person, and it would take something important to make Vash abandon the girls in a storm like this...  
  
Legato had said to follow him, must mainly Wolfwood was just curious.  
  
So there was only one thing to do, really.  
  
He jumped, too.  
  
~~~~  
So lonely  
So lonely  
So lonely  
So lonely  
  
Now no one's knocked upon my door  
For a thousand years or more  
All made up and nowhere to go  
Welcome to this one man show  
~~~~  
  
  
When Legato had first approached Nicholas D. Wolfwood with what seemed to be a clean-cut job for a character a little more shady than usual, he had not really been afraid. A little surprised that he would have been chosen for a mission that was obviously important to someone somewhere, but confident enough not to care about the details. When his target dashed around sand steamers singly poorly-thought-out tunes with a surprisingly nice voice, Wolfwood got disturbed, but not particularly frightened.... When storms arose, sweeping across the landscape with winds so sharp they burned, he could stick out a fight without a complaint.... But when Vash the Stampede began jumping off cliffs in such storms as were previously mentioned, Wolfwood began to get a little worried.   
  
And yet somehow, that situation had gone from bad to worse. With gritted teeth and a smarting head, Wolfwood clung to the side of the massive metal chunk that seemed to be suspended in the storm and shouted over the winds. "I thought you were committing suicide!"   
  
"Suicide? I despise that word the most..." The fact that Wolfwood was clinging to the side of his seemingly secretive escape seemed to suddenly dawn on Vash, and he looked over one shoulder, staring in surprise. "What are you doing here?!"   
  
"First you cry your eyes out, then you run around jumping off cliffs. What're you after?!"   
  
Vash looked away, expression slightly wistful, and his response could barely be heard over the howling wind. "I'm visiting the folks."   
  
With a scowl, Wolfwood flipped himself over, cross and all, until he was standing somewhat unsteadily next to Vash, his sunglasses perched on the bridge of his peaked nose. "Eh? Come again?"   
  
"I'M VISITING THE FOLKS!"   
  
"Are you saying they built a house in the sky? I'm sick of your lies!" Of course, with Vash, such a thing was entirely possible, but Wolfwood's pride would not let him freely admit a thing like that just yet.  
  
Wolfwood's jaw dropped as behind them, through the foggy winds, burst something out of his wildest dreams, a mountain of twisted metal jutting ferociously into the sky. Crags and valleys, violent upturnings, all licked by the racing wind - it was incredible. It was huge. It was ancient, a piece of the past, older and nearly sacred in the eyes of the priest... Wolfwood's jaw dropped open and his heart rate redoubled on itself as he stared. "....what is this?"   
  
"What it looks like," Vash told him, a ghost of a smile spreading across his face, quickly washed away by what Wolfwood could only assume was a wave of bad memories as the blonde closed his eyes. "It's a ship that failed to crash 130 years ago."   
  
"This is unbelievable..." Unbelievable, understatement of the year. Wolfwood gripped the metal bar so hard his knuckles were a pale white as he gazed at the astonishing sight. The very fact that something like this could exist had always been nothing more than fantasy to him - but it was there, and it was real. **Project Seeds.... Is this where Vash...**   
  
How many secrets could one man hold? "Who knew the lost technology was still preserved like this?" That was enough to pass, though Wolfwood could not bring himself to speak for another moment, terribly glad his eyes were hidden behind the sunglasses he always wore. This ship, with the sun glinting off the bird-like statues at it's sides.... It was beyond incredible. Impossible, contradicting everything he had ever known.... With a dry mouth, Wolfwood whispered. "You said you were visiting the folks. Are you saying people live there?"   
  
Vash's smile turned on again like a light, flipping into brilliance with the flick of a switch. Leaning back against the railing he looked up and smiled almost thoughtfully - "I think you'll be their first houseguest in twenty years....   
  
  
~~~~   
  
The ship had a mechanism that somehow was contrived to lower it's passengers down into the depths of the ship, the only sign of motion being the passing slabs of metal that grew more and more monotonous as time wore on. Wolfwood alternated between staring down in fascination, trying to get his mind around the fact that such a place could exist (who ever heard of a moving floor, in a massive ship twenty times bigger than any plant he had ever seen?) and listening to the conversation behind him.  
  
"You're Brad, aren't you? You sure have grown!"   
  
Damn, Vash sounded adorable. And sad. But adorable, none the less.  
  
"By the way, who is he?"   
  
"I'm not quite sure of that myself."  
  
Part of Wolfwood wanted to laugh out loud at that, and part of him wanted to cry - he felt a grin spread across his face as he watched Vash's expression in the glassy surface of the wall, stealing Vash's theory that a smile was the best defense. **No, Vash, you have no idea.**  
  
Brad's brows knitted together darkly, and Wolfwood sighed as the voice answered sharply. "I don't mind you wandering around here, but don't bring outsiders!"   
  
The priest settled a hand on Brad's shoulder, trying to sound as warm as possible. "Oh, don't be like that..."   
  
As the platform stopped, Brad shrugged his hand away and flashed him a dark glare before continuing into the hallway. With no small amount of surprise, Wolfwood watched people that seemed more abundant that he could ever have guessed as they ducked back into the side corridors, peering fearfully through heavy metal sliding doors. A mother and a group of young children cringed as Wolfwood's hidden eyes flashed across their doorway, and the elder woman immediately began shooing her flock away from the open hall. "Don't stare...inside, now..."  
  
"That's how it is," Brad spat, his voice contemptuous.  
  
"All right, I'll behave."   
  
~~~~  
Just take a seat they're always free  
No surprise no mystery  
In this theater that I call my soul  
I always play the starring role  
  
So lonely  
So lonely  
So lonely  
So lonely  
~~~~  
  
"VAAAAAASH! VAAAAASSSSSSH!"  
  
Pigtails and a blue dress appeared, charged, and clung so quickly that Wolfwood nearly dropped his cross in surprise as a soft face and pale skin wrapped itself around Vash's body, squealing in delight.  
  
"This is all rather sudden, young lady! I may be easy, but even I need a little warning!" Wolfwood couldn't help but snicker at that comment - Vash *was* easy. But...he shifted, noting the anger building in Brad's eyes, and the way Vash's face seemed to have a rather large sweat drop dribbling down it. For a moment the blonde hugged back, then settle the girl firmly on the floor, his hands on her arms. There was a moment of silence, and then his eyes widened, and his expression grew doubtfully joyous. "...Jessica?"   
  
"That's right!" The girl's smile was like sunshine bursting through on a cloudy day, and Vash's immediately matched hers, for once honest and true. "You remembered! Wow, wow," she bounced, hands clasped before her, "this is the coolest!"   
  
Wolfwood raised an eyebrow, the questions filling his mind too numerous to be asked all at once. He settled for a safer option that asking questions, leaning heavily on his cross and flashing Vash a sly grin. "I didn't know you had such a cute girlfriend! You lucky devil you!"   
Vash's expression immediately went from amused to nervous, and he favored Wolfwood with a weak grin. "Shh, shh!"  
  
"What's this," Wolfwood said, relishing the moment of absolute normality, "you showing off to your girl?"   
  
Brad was getting close to some sort of explosion (judging by the brilliant red of his face), and Vash edged away from him, his spiky hair standing higher on end if such a thing was even possible. Wolfwood had to suppress his laughter as the blonde settled for patting Jessica gently and excusing himself in the politist way possible. "I'm sorry, I have to talk to the Doctor."   
  
"Aw," Jessica responded, her voice sulky and her hands balled into soft fists of annoyance. "No fair!"   
  
"Jessica..."   
  
"Come see me after, okay? Immediately after! If you don't, I'll hate you!"   
  
Vash waved his fingers tiredly in agreement as the small doctor at his side palmed open a door and entered. "All right, all right!" He said wistfully, then turned the full force of his haunted eyes at Wolfwood once again. "I'll just be a second."   
  
The priest stared hard after Vash as he exited the hallway, questing racing through his head - there were so many things he didn't know, couldn't know!  
  
**'You'll be their first house guest in twenty years...'** Twenty years? When was the last time Vash had been here? Wolfwood knew his exact whereabouts for the past three or four years, but before that.... When he had been given his assignment Legato had proudly displayed maps of endless sand criss-crossed with red markings, some old and dry, some new and bright blood red - the trails Vash the Stampede had been traveling for years.  
  
That was when Wolfwood had realized that there was more to his mission than met the eye. How long had Vash been traveling? Long enough for him to not remember Jessica - with that and the fact that she obviously worshiped him like a childhood hero, Wolfwood construed that it had indeed been many years since Vash had been on this ship.   
  
And they treated him like family! When Vash had walked in, he had not been shied away from, indeed only when people noticed Wolfwood did they pull their children away and hide. So Vash was a common enough site, despite his infrequent visits, that people did not regard him as an outsider....  
  
That irony of that was not lost on Wolfwood. Vash the Stampede, the only planet-side resident these people trusted!  
  
"I haven't introduced myself yet," the priest murmured in his kindest tone, lifting his fingers and slipping the dark sunglasses he wore off. "I'm..." The words, though, seemed to remind Jessica and Brad that he was not from their world - **Must be the accent,** Wolfwood mused - and in mere moments the girl was cowering as if she feared being hit, behind Brad's shoulder. Wolfwood hesitated, unsure of how to deal with those fear-filled eyes, but that surprise left an opening for Brad's defensive words.  
  
"What did you expect? The inhabitants here aren't like you violent, warring outsiders." Violent, warring...yes, that was true. "You make this place stink like gunpowder. Stay put until he gets back. Got that?"   
  
Wolfwood glared at Brad's retreating back, knowing that the accusations wouldn't hurt so much if they hadn't been so close to the truth - these people *should* be afraid of him. Vash should never have brought him here, of all people in the world - but he had followed, stubbornly, and now it was likely that this ship would become a battle arena. "At least offer me a drink, for crying out loud!" he muttered, lighting up a cigarette and taking a deep drag, forcing himself to relax.  
  
Surely such a thing was impossible. Look at how difficult it had been for Vash, someone they trusted, to make his way onto the ship! There was no way any one of the Gung-ho Guns he had met could do that, with the exception of Midvalley and Legato... Wolfwood was sure enough that those two would not be facing Vash until much later.  
  
**What am I thinking? Much later? Vash could get cut down in the next five minutes, so why do I believe he'll continue to survive every encounter?**  
  
Faith.  
  
That disturbed Wolfwood. As a priest, he spoke long and hard about the values and benefits of absolute faith in God, in Holy things, in almighty plans, but.... Believing was different than speaking, and while he had turned many people to the light of his God, Wolfwood had been receding further into shadows, into sin and ultimately oblivion... Faith was something only innocent people could maintain, and he was too far from innocent to ever go back.  
  
Faith in Vash....  
  
Now that damned gunman had him believing with more fervor then he had ever felt before, in one thing - the invincibility of Vash the Stampede. The honesty of his ideals and the terrified child that was hiding beneath yards of flamboyant red fabric - that was so real, so believable, so eternal! The pain in Vash's eyes that spoke of a desperate determination to live and let live, to protect lives at any cost, be it scars or limbs or broken hearts.... Wolfwood believed in that, so completely and utterly, that it was useless for him to deny it any longer, especially to himself.  
  
Was that love, the love he had been avoiding for so long? Was that what Midvalley had felt and given up when Wolfwood had been sent on this mission, out of his reach? Was that what somehow prompted Knives to chase his brother to the ends of the planet, jealous, protective love?  
  
Another cigarette, and another thought.  
  
If he loved Vash, was he already doomed? Wouldn't his employers sense that telepathically and immediately know that their inside man had betrayed them, if only with his heart...? Wolfwood closed his eyes for a moment at that idea - he didn't *want* to die. He wanted to live and go down in a blaze of guns and bullets, not be snuffed out like a candle at the hands of Knives or Legato, or one of their hit man! To die ignominiously, one of the hundreds or thousands they had killed... **I can't stand that.** It would be better to raise his gun to his head and end it that way - and, the priest decided firmly, if it came to a choice of ways to go, that was what he would choose.  
  
But how would he know when he had been discovered?  
  
When the people in the hallways got brave enough to actually glare at him without flinching, Wolfwood was on his eighth cigarette, and the butts of seven others were decorating the floor around his heels. There was a young boy to his left, and Wolfwood was all too aware of his intentions - Even the little kids on this ship believed in his inherent sinfulness - when the boy finally flung a piece of trash, Wolfwood deflected it sternly with his cross.  
  
"Get out of here!" the child cried before his parent could burst out and pull him away.  
  
"I'm sorry!" she burst out, and when Wolfwood murmured a calm 'Don't sweat it,' she narrowed her eyes. "But I feel the same as the boy... I beg you, please, leave this place!"  
  
A scared woman, who had to be younger than Wolfwood, and she seemed...happy. Maybe that's what made this ship feel so different from the planet below - there was no fear and no anger, nothing but peace at all times. It was the very opposite of Gunsmoke's rough and tumble atmosphere, where the weak died, and on occasion the strong joined them...  
  
"Why?" Wolfwood asked them, something twisting within his chest. Leave? Where they so selfish that they believed sharing that peace with anyone would lead to their destruction? Self-imposed isolation was both a safety precaution and a fear... "So you all can live out your cozy little lives? Your plants aren't inexhaustible, they could break down someday. You can't cling to them forever!"  
  
"What? You have no idea how hard we work to maintain these systems! I-It's better than living out there!" He wasn't sure why their pride bothered him so when one of the men raised a clenched fist in protest, and others joined him. Maybe because the very life they feared had stolen away so much of his soul that it seemed unfair that anyone remained untouched by hardship - **Wolfwood,** he told himself, **you're a priest. Just be happy that they've escaped the fate the rest of the planet has suffered.**  
  
But he couldn't be. He couldn't be glad that they thought themselves worthy of peace and the rest of the race fit to burn and die on a sandy desert. The technology intact on their ship might be enough to improve life for everyone, but rather than give it up, they would cling to paradise in the sky - it made him sick.  
  
He would have done the same thing, but it still made him sick.  
  
"They say you care nothing about people's lives!"  
  
"Hear, hear!"  
  
With a trembling hand, Wolfwood slammed his cross shaped weapon into the floor, leaving a definite indentation in the metal. His act of suppressed anger, while it certainly ended the mob's jeering agreements, did nothing but prove they were correct, and as they pulled back in fear the priest was grimly proud of the fact that he *did* have the potential for violence, in an adverse, perverse way. If he was going to be shunned, ridiculed and mocked, he would damn-well give them something to really be afraid of...  
  
"Like it or not, the time *will* come!" he called, staring around at the group - when he met their eyes, some would turn away and some would try to stare him down, but he won each tiny battle in turn. It was all he could do for the moment, after all. "The time will come for all of you to live on that desert planet!"  
  
~~~~  
  
"Of all the rotten, insignificant people.... Doesn't anyone take the word of a priest anymore?" Wolfwood was moving away from the door Vash had disappeared in, his irritation growing with every step, the Cross Punisher at his side clinking softly as he moved. With crowds of people collecting whenever he moved, Wolfwood was more than happy to simply keep moving and avoid a confrontation, while letting Vash catch up to him later.  
  
That was when screams echoed through the hallway - Wolfwood was immediately running, picking the door that hid the muffled screams. Banging on it, he began to shout - "What's wrong!? Hey in there!" No response! He ran his hands up and down the smooth metal seams and gritted his teeth...damn it! "Don't make doors that can't be opened...!"  
  
The Cross Punisher doubled as a battering ram as Wolfwood struck the door once, twice, three times, and then pried the crack open further with his fingers. As soon as light fell across the floor, the priest closed his eyes for a moment.  
  
Four corpses, fresh and still bleeding... As he knelt, several footsteps announced the arrival of others, and Wolfwood turned, realizing that his position was more than suspicious, it was-  
  
"You...you...What are you....doing...?"  
  
"It wasn't me," Wolfwood breathed sharply, "They were like this when I got here." The people began backing up, and he took a step forward. "Hey, listen to me!"   
  
Two of the men looked up and Wolfwood instinctively followed their gaze, his eyes meeting Brad's as the man burst in on the scene, his eyes widening in horror. "What happened?!"  
  
"Brad!"  
  
"It's Terry and Nasha!"  
  
That was all it took - the sadness in those voices lit a flame in Brad's eyes, and the peaceful civilian pulled out a gun unlike any one Wolfwood had ever seen before - his hands were trembling so hard the weapon rattled. "You! You!"  
  
"It wasn't me."  
  
"You can't prove that!" The little red beacon was shivering up and down Wolfwood's body, and the priest shifted - what was he going to do know? Who had attacked these people, how could he convince Brad to lower his weapon, and where the hell was Vash?  
  
"Once again," Wolfwood's grip tightened on his cross, "it wasn't me."  
  
~~~~  
Lonely, I'm so lonely  
I feel so alone  
I feel low  
I feel so  
Feel so low  
I feel low, low  
I feel low, low, low  
I feel low, low, low  
I feel low, low, low  
I feel low, low, low  
I feel low, low, low  
Low, I feel low  
I feel low  
I feel low  
I feel so lonely  
I feel so lonely  
I feel so lonely, lonely, lonely, lone  
Lonely, lone  
I feel so alone, yeah  
  
So lonely  
~~~~  



	14. Sometimes it hurts to breathe

Tlal14 Chapter fourteen 

*humbled* I hope this makes up for the shoddy-ness of my previous chapter, everyone. I humbly apologize if it's just as bad as the last one, but I did   
make a valient attempt...and while it's not quite lemon, I hope it's acceptable. 

x.x Yay. Master finally kicks some ass. 

~Tomo   
Whose muse's finally kicked in...S'been a while.   


~~~~   
It's only when I lose myself in someone else   
That I find myself   
I find myself   
Something beautiful is happening inside for me   
Something sensual, it's full of fire and mystery   
I feel hypnotised   
I feel paralysed   
I have found heaven 

There's a thousand reasons   
Why I shouldn't spend my time with you   
For every reason not to be here   
I can think of two   
To keep me hanging on   
Feeling nothing's wrong   
Inside your heaven 

[Lose Myself - Depeche Mode]   
~~~~ 

The gun was still trembling, up and down, the fearful rattling echoing endlessly in Wolfwood's ears, like shivering laughter, unspoken. He glanced to his left, scanning the hallway and trying to gauge the closeness of his enemy, of a potential friend, of anything that could alter the situation. "There is another way," he whispered, half praying, half kidding. 

"Shut up!" someone called, and the scene seemed to waver like a choppy reflection on the surface of a pool. Wolfwood leaned back against the muzzle of the gun in his hair, knowing, waiting for Vash to arrive. 

Vash would change things, because he always did. When he lifted his gun people either ran or died, but things changed inevitably - where *was* that stupid blonde? Wolfwood shifted against the gun, needing time - he wasn't sure what he was waiting for, other than Vash...something seemed missing. 

"I know a guy who whines and cries until he finds a way to save everyone," Wolfwood whispered. How many times had he admonished Vash for tactics that kept everyone safe and produced nothing but a happy ending? How could he have so routinely ridiculed the chosen path of the blonde who was renowned the world over...? 

That was easy. Vash was a fool. 

But so was he. 

It was nobody's fault but his own that there was a gun pressed to his head, and Wolfwood knew that. Because he was hated, because he was nothing but trouble, because he had long ago fallen into a pit with sides to slick and pristine to be climbed, and now the rope was dangling before him, inches too high to be reached. 

"I know a man..." 

He didn't know himself, let alone anyone. Everything was a lie, the world, the smiles, and here he stood proclaimed to know the man he loved... 

"...who takes a stand..." 

...Who fought injustice, who dreamed of rape and death, who was plagued by the ghosts of centuries of living and twice as many dead souls... 

"...though it scars him from head to toe..." 

Though it tore the very flesh from his bones, he believed. The faith would slowly kill him and extinguish that brilliance, but it was a real, tangible faith, and wouldn't it be better to die after truly living than to truly die after living a lie? 

Those scars were each a mark of the human race's own particular version of love. 

"And he's right there." 

Gunshots, and bullets bit into Wolfwood's shoulders, one on each side - in shock he dropped his weapon, as blood burst from his chest and began running in torrential rivulets down his torso. In seconds his shirt was soaked and his jacket damp, his fingers twitching at nothing but air as he staggered forward. 

The gun behind him was gone, kicked to the side, and suddenly- 

"The man who rings the black funeral bell...Chapel the-" 

He was flung against the wall abruptly, and there was a leather-clad cybernetic arm pressed against his neck. "That's who you are!" 

Wolfwood opened his mouth to speak. "That's who you are, you...." 

"I am nothing." 

Blood was blossoming from his lips, spilt down his chin as Vash glared, his sunglasses hiding any hint of mercy that might be lingering in his once-gentle eyes. "You would hurt me so deeply..." Vash accused, voice breaking. "You would....you would be just like... him..." 

Him. As if his name was a summons, Knives turned around, holding the phaser that had once been firmly jammed against Wolfwood's neck. "Just like me, Wolfwood? You think you could be what I am to him, his other half, his lover, his brother? Vash is mine, he does not belong to any pitiful human." 

"You're wrong..." 

The gun turned, it's red bullet-eye training on Vash's forehead. Before Wolfwood could so much as move, the blonde was falling forwards, blood spraying across his face- 

It was salty, cool, filling his mouth as he rolled over and screamed - 

"VASH!" 

The blonde blinked at him, his body naked, coated in the blood dripping from the bullet hole in his head. The blood drizzled across ravaged scars and slick metal, like smeared watercolors - Vash lifted a hand, palm up, and the liquid poured between his fingertips in an endless current of crimson droplets. "Why?" he asked, voice pitifully small, eyes full of something midway between fear and agony. "Why don't you want me?" 

Wolfwood shouted back, staggering to his knees and wiping his hands free of blood - was it Vash's or his own, or did it even matter? "Why do you want *ME*?" 

"I love you," the blonde whispered, face growing paler and paler as the blood leaked from his body. Wolfwood outstretched his fingers, groping for flesh to hold, but there was nothing there for him but Vash's blood, pooling and flowing and cold. 

"I love you..." 

"Vash!" 

~~~~   
It's only when I lose myself in someone else   
That I find myself   
I find myself   
I can feel the emptiness inside me   
Fade and disappear   
There's a feeling of contentment   
Now that you are here   
I feel satisfied   
I belong inside   
Your velvet heaven   
~~~~ 

Wolfwood sat up with the name burning on his lips, and Vash's arms strung around his waist. It took him a long, heart stopping moment to realize that he *wasn't* on the Seeds ship with a gun to his head, and Vash wasn't dripping and crying blood and begging to be loved. 

A dream, then. 

Oh. 

The priest closed his eyes for a long moment. Why? Why did that incident haunt him so, filling his dreams with what could have happened if the timing had been different, if another body had appeared? It was over, and unlike Vash, Wolfwood had not thought twice about the experience - only in his dreams did the morality involved in crashing an entire colony ship really start to bother him. 

Why did it have to be like this? Was it guilt for his hard words that had unknowingly been a portent for the near future? He had told them that the time would come, and in the sick way fate had of intervening, it had been *his* fault that the ship fell. 

If he had only been faster, or stronger. If his enemy had been living, if he had been human... 

Death was everywhere he went, chasing his - it's long fingers touched even the most innocent of plans - and Wolfwood had been trying so hard for so long to cast his guilt aside, to rid himself of the blood money and in the course of doing that, rid himself of blame... 

This couldn't be shoved aside. He had not just killed people, this time, he had forced them into a life so miserable that even he, a priest, prayed for death now and then rather than another day on a burning chunk of rock that barely passed as a planet. 

Unforgivable... 

"Wolfwood?" Vash's breath was cool against his shoulder. Wolfwood shivered as it traced across his body and dissipated into the night, his thoughts vanishing with it. "Another dream?" 

"Yeah," the priest responded gruffly, pulling himself up in the bed and groping about on the night stand for a few moments until his fingers fumbled across his cigarettes and the lighter next to them. For a moment the fire flared, and then all Wolfwood had to focus on was the soft glow of the butt of his cigarette - he let out a satisfied sigh. 

"Smoking in bed is dangerous," Vash murmured, pulling himself up next to his partner. Wolfwood glanced over, his eyes slowly adjusting to the dim light seeping through the window, and smiled thinly. Vash's hair was tilting at an even more precarious angle than usual, and his eyes, though crinkled at the corners with concern, seemed peaceful enough. It was good that one of them, at least, was having a 'good' night. 

'Good' meant that the nightmares were not so bad they both woke up screaming, trembling against each other. 

"I'm a dangerous kind of guy." Wolfwood tilted his head back and let in fall against the headboard, angling his cigarette up a bit more and sighing. 

Since they had returned from the Seeds ships, several things had changed. Ever since Wolfwood had been the only person who could pry Vash's arms from around Brad's cooling figure, Vash had scarcely left his side - thinking up excuses or simply refusing to take a path that would part him from the priest's immediate vicinity. Wolfwood wasn't sure what that attachment meant, but in part he welcomed it - because, damn it, he wanted to be close to Vash - however, the portion of him that was still concerned with surviving this ordeal was growing increasingly nervous with the companionship. 

So they ate together, at a table with the insurance girls, Milly opposite of Wolfwood and Vash opposite of Meryl, and when they were together like that, there were no small looks or tired smiles - around the girls they were as close as friends could be without going overboard. The most daring thing Wolfwood had done was fling an arm around Vash's neck or ruffle his hair, which always made the blonde catch his breathe - though the girls charted it up to brotherly appreciation. At night though, when the door was closed and locked, they slipped into one of the twin beds in their hotel room for the evening and fell asleep together, curled warmly against the pillows. 

So oddly innocent, those nights alone. 

Part of Wolfwood suspected that Vash was growing to trust him more and more, and that was why he was so insistent on being around the priest. Vash was a strong, powerful man - but he also had a side to him that Wolfwood loved, the side that needed to be reassured. It was hard to explain without Wolfwood feeling utterly foolish, but Vash felt like a child, someone who was lost at an early age and had been wandering for years, looking for a place to belong. As if he had finally found a safe haven and was running as fast as he could towards the doorway, eager to throw himself into the embrace of solace... 

Was that why he had offered himself up, Wolfwood wondered? Did he think that Wolfwood could be that home he was searching for? If so, Vash was sorely mistaken. There was nobody more likely to *hurt* him than Wolfwood himself, and the way Vash so blindly took everything he said at face value... 

He would have felt better if Vash had questioned anything, been suspicious. That naive innocence was what Wolfwood felt terrible about debauching, after all... To make a child cry was a sin without redemption, and Vash was as much a child as he was an adult, a collage of bits and pieces strewn haphazardly together. 

"Why did you come to me in the shower, Vash?" He asked at length, slowly inhaling the tinted smoke of his cigarette. 

Vash shifted, the rustling of his tank top a testament of the nervous motion. For a long while Wolfwood thought he would not get an answer, but at last Vash spoke up, his hair highlighted by the window frame and the outside world's leaking light. "I thought, maybe..." The blonde looked down. "I thought if I slept with you, you would stay." 

"Stay?" Wolfwood's fingertips paused in their motion of fetching another cigarette. "Stay where?" 

"Stay with me. Always," Vash breathed, "and always." 

Alarms went off in the back of Wolfwood's mind - the way Vash said that, like a prayer, a sinful hope - it was almost obsessive in it's intensity. It was frightening, the power behind those soft, strong words, but at the same time it seemed too fitting to deny... Because nothing else would suit the two of them, of course, they who were drawn together by the most inexplicable of deceitful webs - there were no vows more precious than what they whispered in the dark, and knowing that, Wolfwood sought Vash's hand with his free one and squeezed. 

"I'm not leaving," Wolfwood murmured, then spoke again, voice growing more fervent as he spoke, the jumbled words escaping his lips even before he realized what he was saying. "I could never leave you, Vash, ever." 

Maybe it was the bloody nightmares that loosened his tongue. Maybe the remnants of sake on his lips and the relaxation of a smoke...maybe just the soft smile gracing Vash's face as he spoke that egged him on to that confession.... whatever the cause, it was true. 

"I love you," Vash whispered, sounding so much like he had only minutes before in the midst of Wolfwood's nightmare that the priest's hair stood on end. In response (he had yet to find the courage to say those simple words) Wolfwood pressed his mouth to the blonde's and lingered for a long moment there, fingers lifting Vash's hand and clasping it to his chest. 

The kiss was alive, a thing in itself, seeping into the crevices of Wolfwood's soul as they touched and lighting the flickering kindling beneath his scarcely-calmed exterior. His hand slid from Vash's palm to his thinly clothed shoulders, and concentrated on nothing more than devouring the mouth beneath his, plucking at the swelling lower lip, tasting the palate, purring into the moans that were slipping around his probing tongue. It was fire and ice all at once, melting his soul and freezing his senses with the sheer electricity, and he shivered, leaning closer. Anything for more of that burning coldness - Wolfwood tightened his grip on Vash's shoulder before fumbling one-handed for the ashtray on the stand and snuffing out the dying coal of his cigarette. 

That was what he loved so about Vash's body, the tension that forged between them, between his bloodied hands and the gentleness in Vash's eyes... Whenever they touched there was a sort of cold, frigid electricity that gave way to gentle echoes, as if their souls were resounding against each other like crystals pinging in waves of sound. 

Touch, like molten metal, cascading down his spine as Vash's fingers of metal and flesh ghosted over the curvature of his shoulder blades - heat that he reciprocated as the blonde tilted his head back, baring the pale expanse of his unmarked neck to Wolfwood's roving tongue. He suckled at an earlobe, laid delicate kisses along the hairline at Vash's nape, then licked sensuously across the ridge of the adam's apple, sending waves of shivering heat up and down Vash's cool limbs. 

The blonde trembled against him, half parted lips calling softly, nervously, as he had never been kissed in such a way... 

A lie, but one that Wolfwood would accept. 

It was nothing they hadn't done before, this gentle, seeking game of touch-taste-feeling. It was sexual, but on the lightest note - it was pure and utter ecstacy, the feeling of their bodies playing against one another, the light, gentle touches - seeing how far they could go together without snapping the invisible trip wires set around their souls. 

Wolfwood's hand slipped lower beneath the fabric of the blonde's boxers, until he was cupping Vash's outer thigh, his thumb sweeping against the pale flesh in a delicate, heated arc in the most intimate of touches they had ever shared. Vash's eyes went wide and his lips parted wide, trembling with surprise as he spoke - "Wolfwood!" 

It was too much, those parted, pale lips, eyes and skin, so soft and cool, the fire within his chest expanding, growing, heating - and Vash's skin was so very, very cold, so detached.... The way he moved, the mole at the corner of his eyes, the pallor of his skin in the dusty moonlight - it was all too much to bear! Fighting whatever pulled them together was maddening, and while giving in was death.... 

Realization. It was worth it. 

With a moan that was almost a sob, Wolfwood claimed Vash's mouth for his own again, kissing forcefully in a way he had not dared to only moments before. If he had to fall, if he had to give in, it would be like this, and he would sink in the sweetness of another's body. He would love while he could and die when he had to - that was all he could do. 

Vash automatically leaned back, falling into the cushions, pulling Wolfwood down over him, their mouths still joined completely - and they kissed, and Wolfwood's hands began roaming sharply, fingering the ridge and crevices of Vash's torso, the scars where nipples might have been, the jagged displays of humanity, cool and soft. 

Wolfwood broke away and turned his attention to the juncture of neck and jaw, where he bit and kissed and marked before trailing down to Vash's collarbone, sweaty and cold and sweet. Fingers were in his hair and his own were sliding down, parting Vash's boxers from his hips with clumsy motions, the fire building and stoking - 

"Yes, please, Nick...." 

That name, oh *God*, that name - Wolfwood felt tears prickle against his eyes once more. He would die just to hear that gentle nickname fall from those lips again - with a desperate lunge, he heaved himself forwards, forcing his knees beneath Vash's thighs, their hips meeting with alarming speed - 

Fire. Vash was warming up, the cold melting away as he cried out and writhed, as Wolfwood pinned him to the bed's headboard and ravished the underside of one grate, nipping and biting and raking his teeth across the tender flesh. A name, over and over again, ringing in his ears as he swept his tongue across the sinful scars, up and down, over and over- 

One of them was thinking, and Wolfwood was not sure if the mantra was his own or not. Yes, yes, let me have you, let me make you a part of me, take me, let me kiss you and own you and dominate you, let me show you, let me kiss everything away, let me have your soul, because I love you, because- 

He moaned, kissed again, lost himself in the heady embrace. Some things were holy, and this was one of them - he would sell his soul for the simple sensations of taste and touch, of cries and tears, anything for another moment of unity. 

Vash was trying to buck, clawing at his back in a desperate attempt for more contact of skin, cloth, anything, and his hips were nearly gyrating, grinding against Wolfwood's with the same enthusiastic force that the priest was delivering against his chest. They rocked, they moved with incendiary obscenity, together, until Wolfwood could stand no more and at last pulled Vash from the heavy hardwood bedposts and kissed him again as the blonde's fingers slipped across the fastenings of his pants. 

A malevolent hiss, cunning, slithering into his mind between the panting gasps and throaty moans 

'Chapel.' 

For a moment it didn't register, the icy voice was overwhelmed by the heat between the partners. For one last moment Wolfwood drowned in the heat, ad then- 

Agony purred and roared in his ears. 

Sheer and utter and fast it ripped up Wolfwood's spine, exploding at the base of his neck in a firey burst that sent the priest howling in agony, throwing himself backwards as he clawed at his head, screaming and screaming and screaming. 

It was ripping him apart from the inside, his heart was pounding and threatening to claw it's way free from the confines of his ribcage, his very skin with all it's liquid layers of flesh and muscle was burning on his body, melting away, each nerve end sparked with sheer, utter pain. 

Scream. 

The superficial sensation of Vash's nails raking against his skin as he jerked away, eyes wide with terror that would not die - Before Wolfwood's eyes things were changing. Vash's expression was wavering and slowly reddening, then darkening - he screamed again as his eyes began burning, and when he touched them, invisible liquid slithered trails down the crevices in his hands. "MY EYES!" he choked, scrabbling at his face in horror. "They're bleeding! God, stop the blood, please-" 

The purr continued, low and caressing, metallic and hard, the shackles closing with a snap around Wolfwood's soul. 

_Don't.___

_Touch.___

_What.___

_Will.___

_Never.___

_Be.___

_Yours._

Wolfwood was not concious of Vash's terrified whispers as he backed up, slamming hard into the door of their hotel room and fumbling for the lock - if he could just get away from Vash, things would be alright! If he could just escape the heat and too-close scent of sweat and fire he would be safe from the pain that scorched his senses and dulled all sanity to a hopeless hum in the chaotic background... 

Vash was moving, but too late to recapture his prize as the priest bolted, escaping out the portal and disappearing in the depths of the hotel. 

"WOLFWOOD!" 

Laughter, somewhere. 

_~Mine.~_

~~~~   
Did I need to sell my soul for pleasure like this   
Did I have to lose control to treasure your kiss   
Did I need to place my heart in the palm of your hand   
Before I could even start to understand   
It's only when I lose myself in someone else   
That I find myself   
I find myself   
~~~~ 


	15. Sometimes it hurts to care

  
  
~~~~   
Gone away   
Who knows where you been   
You take all your lies   
And wish them all away   
I somehow doubt   
We'll ever be the same   
There's too much poison   
And confusion on your face   
  
[Hate This Place - Goo Goo Dolls]   
~~~~   
  
Walls. Everywhere, stalking upwards like the twisted roots of dead trees, sometimes smooth, sometimes ribbed and wriggling, almost alive in their gloomy shadows. Twisted fingers, reaching upwards, seeking something between the stars and finding nothing but blackest night. The shadows swirled in leaps and bounds between the pools of hungry darkness in the shady overhangs and the patches of lightless gloom cast by Wolfwood's torso as he fled beneath the moons, the darkness licking at everything in it's path.   
  
There were few lights, and he ran from them, as they burned his eyes, sending starbursts of numbing blindness coursing through his body. There were fewer people than lights, who turned slightly in surprise as a ghostly, half naked figure blurred through the alleyways around them and disappeared around another bend, swallowed by the night. They neither ran nor moved nor called to him - he might as well have been a figment of a deranged imagination for all the credit they gave him.   
  
He tore through the back streets, eyes wide, sweat collecting on his brow and dropping away down the panes of his cheeks - There was nothing to look for, or hope for, or pray for, however there *was* something to run from, and so he ran, his lungs bursting and his calves burning, the thundering of his heartbeat filling his head and eyes, vision seeping in and out in waves along with the pattering pulse.   
  
Nicholas D. Wolfwood was afraid to turn around, because behind him, ghosts were racing. In front of him shadows opened wide, comforting in their obscurity, ambiguous promises of safety - but it was eternally laced with that sparking, startling agony -   
  
He wanted....   
  
...he wanted...   
  
Suddenly there was a soft click, the sound of a gun cocking in the darkness, and a hard steel barrel was slammed against the base of Wolfwood's neck, biting into the flesh mercilessly.   
  
"You going to kill me, Hornfreak?" he whispered, voice rasping like metal over stone, low and terrified and hate filled all at once. The gun bit harder into the skin at the back of his neck, and Wolfwood straightened up a bit.   
  
This was it. He was going to die. He was going to end up the way he had always known he would end up, a body in the gutter to be stepped over and ignored, an ignominious death for a man who had haunted the shadows for all of his life.   
  
A preacher. Destined for hell. Damned despite his belief by the smile of a brilliant blonde and the golden eyes of another...   
  
"If you're going to kill me, then do it, I'm ready to die."   
  
Something struck his knees and Wolfwood's legs buckled - it was all he could do to catch himself before his face was ground into the dirt. "Shut up, Nicholas D. Wolfwood."   
  
Alarms went off in his head, and Wolfwood looked up in surprise at the name, meeting Midvalley's eyes.   
  
Chocolate brown. Wide, terrified pools in a face that was stern and hate filled - his hand was steady, finger poised on the trigger, but those eyes! They were not the eyes of a man steeled to commit murder, and Wolfwood knew that. He knew what Midvalley looked like as he snuffed out a life, and this was not that hardened expression, this was something else.   
  
"Legato," the priest whispered, and Midvalley's face curled up into a sneer. "Can't even do your own dirty work, can you? Have to send someone else to snuff out the one guy who'd defy the dog you call master?"   
  
The gun hit him in the face, sharp and cold, cutting his cheek and making him bite his tongue all at once. The black haired priest fell again, choking on blood and spitting it out into the dirt, while Midvalley fired three shots down towards him - they circled his head, embedded into the packed dirt street with sickening thuds.   
  
Wolfwood's eyes narrowed - Legato would not have missed, unless...   
  
Midvalley *was* shaking now, his eyes narrow with hatred, blood seeping from the corner of his mouth as he struggled with the demon inside of him. Wolfwood was not sure what to think or do or say, terrified of moving lest the motion distract the struggle and sway the tide against his favor. The musician was staggering slightly, knuckles white as he mouthed something Wolfwood could not quite make out...   
  
And then the player froze.   
  
Wolfwood swallowed the blood in his mouth, and refused to move.   
  
It could be a trick, a trap, anything! Midvalley had always been his friend (in a place where such bonds were few and far between), but their last meeting had been less than warm, and Legato, with his twisted mind, seemed prone to do something like injure Midvalley to spur Wolfwood's concern, then backstab him in one fell swoop... So he stayed where he was, shaking on the ground, as Midvalley began trembling hard and half-screaming.   
  
The alley was dark, save for the soft haze that was beginning to leak around Midvalley's body, a pale golden glow - Wolfwood recognized it, and cringed. He had felt that anger before, that sharp, flashing fury - inhuman, terrible - and now it was being unleashed on his former partner before his eyes.   
  
The priest took a half-step closer as the gold caressed and burned - Midvalley's body convulsed once with sparking bolts of electricity, then gave out completely, the light vanishing as quickly as it had appeared, leaving it's victim a husk of agony, laying broken in the dust of the disgusting alley.   
  
Wolfwood took it upon himself to move then, crawling to the musician and tucking Midvalley's head into his lap. The neatly arranged black hair was all out of place, falling across the musician's closed eyes, charred in places and burn completely off in others. There were bloody, lightning-shaped streaks down the tattered arms, visible beneath the torn cloth of the once-pristine suit, and a large crimson stain was pooling beneath the body... Wolfwood swallowed back the knot of disbelief forming in his stomach and gave the form in his arms a less than gentle shake. "Player. Hey, Player. Wake up."   
  
The musician didn't stir. "Stupid...get up already. C'mon, wake up. He didn't fry ya that bad, you idiot..." He was breathing, wasn't he? With fumbling fingers the priest sought out a burning wris, and held his breath for a long moment until the heartbeat proved to be steady and sure. Good, that meant that the electricity hadn't been that powerful - and if his heart was still beating, his brain was still functioning. Right? "Midvalley?"   
  
The wait for those mahogany chocolate eyes to open seemed far too long for Wolfwood, who was *not* about to let the man that had been his best friend die in his arms - with gritted teeth, he raised one hand and slapped Midvalley across the face, leaving a mark visible even in the darkness. "Wake the fuck up, you tone-deaf excuse of an alcoholic!"   
  
It worked. For another moment there was silence, then the corner of Midvalley's lips curved up in a grin that was almost terrible for all of it's grim amusement. "Sweet, Chapel, real sweet. I missed you too."   
  
"Idiot."   
  
"And here I was enjoying listening to you mourn my loss..." The eyes closed again, and a self-righteous smirk fled across Midvalley's face. "Did he...?"   
  
"Shoot me?" Wolfwood looked down at the three still-smoking bullet holes in the dirt, and shook his head. "No. Why?"   
  
"Why what?"   
  
"Why'd you let him take you over like that?" Wolfwood shoved the prone torso out of his lap, and Midvalley sat up, absently rubbing the bruises on his wrists and glaring slightly at the priest. "He was just using your body to kill me, and I know when you try you're way too strong for him to control... so you must have given yourself over to him, even though he was going to kill me." Wolfwood looked away and shook his head, bangs jaggedly hiding his eyes. How could he believe that Midvalley hadn't betrayed him? Or even more so, did he have the right to feel abused after all he had done - and never done - to the musician?   
  
But it wasn't even his fault! He hadn't asked for anything more than a quick fuck now and then, right? He hadn't meant for emotions to get involved with their relationship, and he sure as hell hadn't wanted to fall for Vash!   
  
God, Heaven, Hell - someone had thrown him a curve ball that he couldn't deal with, and suddenly his world was upside down, his enemies were his friends, his partners and employers were now sighting him with all of their force - and the one thing he had hoped to earn was still as forbidden to him as it had been when all hell had yet to break loose.   
  
"Tell me why."   
  
Midvalley stared at Wolfwood, wiping the blood from his chin with trembling fingers, his eyes narrow and hurt. "Maybe I did want you dead. They're going to kill you anyway... now that you betrayed them."   
  
"I didn't," Wolfwood whispered.   
  
"You care about the target. The target, more importantly, loves you. And Knives hates that more than anything - he's wanted Vash for all these years and then you waltz in and jump him like that - Jesus, Chapel, I thought you had more smarts than that! Or at least a stronger will to live!"   
  
Wolfwood was silent for a long moment, wondering how far the musician could be trusted. Had Midvalley been the one to blow the whistle on his not-quite-relationship with Vash, or had Knives or Legato discovered it when he reported in? And he and Midvalley had just survived an ordeal - the influence of both evils - would the companionship that was returning in the aftermath of terror be long lasted, or a bond forged and broken, that between those who suffer equally at the hands of a tyrant, but go back to petty bickering when they are separated again? He couldn't tell, and he answered accordingly. "I don't know."   
  
"I didn't ask you anything," the musician scowled, running dusty fingers through his hair as he stared at Wolfwood, eyes filled with unspoken accusations.   
  
"I don't know why I....why he...." Wolfwood closed his eyes, then opened them again as Midvalley reached for the gun he had dropped in the struggle for his own body. "I didn't want to. I can't explain - but you *can* tell me why the hell you let Legato do that to you! You really want me dead?"   
  
"There were times," the musician slowly admitted, "when I did. Because you forgot all about me so quickly, like you always said you would, and I couldn't do the same - it made me angry."   
  
"You didn't."   
  
"I do. But if I'm going to kill you, Chapel - or should I call you Nicholas now? Does Vash all you that, now that you own him?"   
  
Wolfwood didn't rise to the bait.   
  
"If I'm going to kill you, it'll be by my own free will and in a proper battle - I wouldn't shoot *you* in the back, Chapel, I want to see your face as you go down at my feet." Midvalley reached for his saxophone and tensed, turning and staring into Wolfwood's eyes with a gaze that made Wolfwood shake harder - it was a look that was haunted, hunted. A look that said Midvalley was sure to receive a brutal punishment for this fiasco, and he knew it, but would not repent - it was a look that suggested....maybe, just maybe those words had been for show, and Midvalley was still an ally, not a foe. There was jealousy, burning brilliant - was all of that emotion centered around him?   
  
Wolfwood cringed.   
  
"Get away from me," he told the musician, extending a choice finger. "And tell Knives and his little pet that he can kiss my ass, because I'll keep Vash as long as I want him."   
  
Damn. That probably wasn't smart, Wolfwood mused, as the bell of Midvalley's saxophone made contact with his face and sent him sprawling in the dirt again as it came down once more, cracking against his shoulders, then the small of his back, sending pain arching through every nerve. However, he could bear it - such physical agony was nothing when compared to the mental torment he had endured less than an hour before, pain that had been blinding and burning and endless.   
  
Again and again, Midvalley's boots and fists and pounding anger, until Wolfwood felt himself slipping away -   
  
~~~~   
Can you feel it   
I didn't mean it   
Can I see you   
What are we doin'   
I think I love you   
But I ain't sayin' nothin' you don't know   
  
Hold on dreamaway   
You're my sweet charade   
~~~~   
  
"It hurts..."   
  
"Everything has a silver lining, though. If you learn from a mistake you can avoid making it a second time. Use it to grow."   
  
He rolled over, feeling blood between his fingers, sticky and oozing. "But it...it hurts so much..."   
  
There was a motherly hand across his forehead, smoothing back the dark bangs with an affectionate gesture - Wolfwood melted backwards, sighing gently as the worst of his aches were swept away by the touch. "Mmm."   
  
He felt young. He felt warm.   
  
It was nice.   
  
There was something special about being held by a woman - something Wolfwood decided he had missed quite a bit, and he sank back into the lap of the speaker with careless abandon, letting a soft cloth trace over the ridges of his face, cleaning away the dirt and blood. "My, you're a mess, aren't you?"   
  
Wolfwood mumbled an agreement and tilted his chin up a bit, letting her hands roam down to his chest, where they sorted through the tattered remains of his scarless flesh and pressed soft dampness against it. He shifted and smiled faintly as she began humming a soft, lilting tune that seemed eerily familiar -   
  
The priest had *always* liked women. They were soft and gentle and friendly, and you didn't have to watch your step around most of them like you did with men. Yeah, that was stereotypical, but that was how it was - he liked the softness of their skin and the wide expanses of their soulful eyes - he liked their curves and pale lips, and the way they fell in love with a person and protected that person for as long as they lived.   
  
So why? Why had he fallen so quickly and so hard for someone that contradicted all of that, save the soulful eyes, which his own dear Vash had in spades? It wasn't fair - he could feel disgust at himself bubbling up in his chest, painful and dark, but shoved it aside and tried his hardest to ignore the voices in his mind. It wasn't *fair* that Vash could be so perfect, so strong and brave and damned false all at once... one man shouldn't have the luxury to be powerful, but chose to be weak in spite of that ability. It wasn't right.   
  
"Now, don't tense up on me..."   
  
The woman's hands were insistent as she began working knots out of his shoulders and easing away the worst pangs in his muscles, palms absorbing the tension and pain, sending Wolfwood's mind into an almost childish state of relaxation - he sighed softly and curled against her knees.   
  
"Tell me what's wrong."   
  
"Vash," the priest mumbled, turning and resting his head against the rumples of her shirt. "S'always Vash."   
  
"What happened?"   
  
"He...I wanted to be with him, an' they won't let me..." Wolfwood's eyes felt heavy, and his fingers curled slightly as long fingernails brushed through his hair. His tone was almost petulant as he breathed out against her legs, eyes sinking closed even as she sighed in agreement. "Hurts..."   
  
"Shh. If you want to be with him, just stay close to him and everything will be alright," the woman said simply - and when she spoke, it seemed as if everything *could* work out the way she believed...as if her words could floor all the odds against them.   
  
Wolfwood felt safe. "Will it?"   
  
"Of course."   
  
  
~~~~   
Take your time   
Move yourself to me   
Yeah I can take your lies   
Until you fall away   
You know I'm lost   
Hiding in your bed   
No I don't think it's wrong   
It's just gone to my head   
Can you feel it   
I didn't mean it   
Can I see you   
What are we doin'   
I think I love you   
But I ain't sayin' nothin' you don't know   
~~~~   
  
  
"Mister Priest?"   
  
Damn it, what *was* that noise? It was louder than anything and made the blood in temples pound horrendously, jerking him from dreams that he was sure had been pleasant. "Are you alright, Mister Priest...? Mister Wolfwood? Wolfwood, wake up!"   
  
When Wolfwood bothered to open his eyes, he found himself gazing into the curious face of an all-too-familiar insurance girl, her wide sky-colored eyes framed by light, soft blonde-brown waves. For a moment he wasn't sure where he was - and then he shifted on the hard ground and blinked, memories murky and unclear in his throbbing mind. "Damn it, what...?"   
  
Milly's eyes looked troubled, and she frowned at the priest, twining a lock of hair around one finger. "Are you alright? I didn't think you were going to wake up. Who did this? What's wrong? Why did you make Vash cry?"   
  
Wolfwood wasn't quite sure what to answer first, so he settled for rolling over and blinking - his eyes were crusted with dust and blood, but seemed intact. After that initial check he checked his teeth, fingers, and other areas, then decided that Midvalley had done no lasting damage and lent himself to more pressing matters, like.... What the hell had just happened?   
  
The priest sat up and groaned, feeling sick - and after spitting out a mouthful of blood, he began massaging his temples in one hand. "Eh? Pretty girl, slow down," he muttered, suppressing a groan as Milly moved next to him and pressed her hand against his cheek. The touch made him think - reminded him of something - what had he been dreaming about? Wolfwood couldn't remember, and so he just shied away from the touch, as if he had been burnt.   
  
And he had, but Milly didn't know that. Didn't need to know that.   
  
"What're you doing here?"  
  
"Meryl and I went out to look for you," the girl murmured, looking nervously over one shoulder. "We heard you start screaming, and when we checked your room, Mister Vash was crying and didn't know where you'd gone, so we took our guns and came out here."   
  
Wolfwood's eyes widened slightly as memories struck him, and he immediately tried to stand, succeeding only in making himself feel more ill. He fell back to the ground and sighed as the girl's expression redoubled in fearful anxiety. "There were...was a man in this alley...?"   
  
"In a black suit?" Milly frowned. "I fired a few rounds at him with my stungun. Weird guy, Mister priest, with some kinda shiny instrument, but he took off real quick."   
  
Wolfwood nodded, and licked his lips - he would have liked to see Midvalley at the other end of a stungun, but at the same time was glad he had not seen a woman - of all people - come to his rescue. How to cover his tracks...? "I didn't even see him, I was...ah.... Vash and I had a fight," he finished lamely, looking away. This girl was more difficult to lie to than Vash - she was innocent and hiding nothing, while Vash had worlds hidden away in his flowing red cloak, so lying to her seemed like a travesty that was unforgivable, instead of a mere necessity, as it was with Vash. "So I left."   
  
"You were screaming..."   
  
"I was...angry," he whispered.   
  
"Do you feel alright?"   
  
"Not really. I feel sleepy. And like I'm gonna puke," he added, grimacing. Milly paled slightly and nodded in sympathy.   
  
"Let's go back to the hotel, then. You might have a. con..con...concussion! If you do, we'll have to see a doctor in the morning, okay?"   
  
Wolfwood nodded wearily and closed his eyes for a moment. In all honesty, back to the hotel was the last place he wanted to go. Seeing Vash now.... He didn't know what to say. How could he explain bursting into screams like that for no reason at all, running from the scene when Vash had finally decided to grant him the intimacy he had been seeking? Vash would be hurt, scared... And there wasn't a single lie to cover for that.   
  
"Mister Vash was very upset," Milly sighed as if she was sensing his thoughts and stood, dusting the front of her long pantaloons off with the palms of her hands. After a moment she offered Wolfwood a hand and pulled him to his feet, where he swayed unsteadily. "He wouldn't leave the room even though we tried to make him. What did you fight about?"   
  
"Men stuff." Wolfwood wobbled and knelt again as much to catch his balance as to collect one of Milly's stungun crosses, which had handed to her, smiling as warmly as he could - which must have been quite a sight, because Milly looked away, apparently embarrassed.   
  
"We should get you cleaned up," she told him, taking his arm and helping him down the street.   
  
~~~~   
Hold on dreamaway   
You're my sweet charade   
  
Hey whatcha do to me   
Would you come back to me   
Yeah I can't do another day   
I'm not certain of it anyway   
I'm not messin' with another life   
Can I get on without you   
Tell me lies   
That you   
Know I need   
~~~~   
  
"So he was *really* angry with me?"   
  
The girl's wide blue eyes were troubled as she regarded the priest draped over her shoulders. "Uhuh. What did you fight about anyway, Mister Wolfwood?"   
  
Wolfwood paused in front of Vash's door and sought for an answer, gulping back his nervousness. "Um..."   
  
"You don't have to tell me," Milly said lightly, knocking on the door. "I know you care a lot about Mister Vash. Close friends always argue! Sometimes sempai gets so frustrated with me...Mister Vash? Mister Vash, I found your runaway priest...!" There was no response from within the room, so Milly opened the door and swung it inwards bringing Wolfwood with her.   
  
The inside was dark, filled with shadows, and Vash's red coat was hanging off the coat stand, the only patch of brilliant color in the entire room. The table was covered in bottles, the beds unmade, the cross punisher unwrapped and thrown across the floor - however Vash was not present.   
  
Wolfwood breathed a poorly disguised sigh of relief.   
  
"He's probably looking for you," Milly said regretfully, helping Wolfwood across the room to one of the beds before turning. She handed him one of the bottles on the table that still had an amount of liquor in the bottom, then went to the bathroom and filled up a basin of water, bringing that, the alcohol and several towels back to the bed. A quick run to retrieve ice for the worst of his bruises followed that, and then the quasi-blonde set her supplies down and smiled teasingly at the man on the bed. "Now hold still, Mister Priest..."   
  
Wolfwood closed his eyes and let the woman wipe his scrapes and bruises clean of much and blood, wincing as alcohol, the only available disinfectant, stung the abrasions painfully. At some point Meryl stuck her head in and brought up another bottle along with some gauze, then retreated, sensing the depression hovering around Wolfwood's mind.   
  
As Milly cleaned the small of his back, where saxophone keys had left punctures in the tender skin, the woman spoke again. "Does Mister Vash know that you like him?"   
  
Wolfwood's eyes snapped open. "Ah...of course he knows, we're friends, aren't we?"   
  
"No, I mean - *Like* him. Or do you think you love him?" she asked, eyes filled with some hidden emotion that Wolfwood couldn't read.   
  
"What?!"  
  
"When you were unconscious, you kept calling for him, and muttering under your breath. Then you stopped all together..." She frowned lightly and pressed an ice pack against his forehead and cheek again. "Does he know?"   
  
"....yeah....." Somehow it was easy to make that admition in the face of innocent blue eyes... Milly smiled faintly when he told her, and nodded in approval.   
  
"Thought so."   
  
They sat in silence for a while longer, until Wolfwood felt horribly sleepy, his eyes drooping closed as the warm hands worked across his skin. So familiar, so soft and calm.... abruptly, he recalled the dream he had been floundinger in earlier. Milly's hands were different than those phantom touches, though... before he could follow that train of thought, it was derailed completely by exhausted sleep.   
  
~~~~   
Hold on dreamaway   
You're my sweet charade   
~~~~   
  
When he woke up, the clock read '5:03 AM', and Vash was staring at him from across the room.   
  
~~~~   
Hold on dreamaway   
You're my sweet charade   
  
Hold on dreamaway   
Hold on dreamaway   
~~~~   
  



	16. Sometimes hope flickers out

~~~~   
You have bound my heart with subtle chains   
So much pleasure that it feels like pain   
So entwined now that we can't shake free   
I am you and you are me   
  
No escaping from the mess we're in   
So much pleasure that it must be sin   
I must live with this reality   
I am yours eternally   
  
[I am Yours - Depeche Mode]   
~~~~   
  
'Don't touch what will never be yours....'   
  
Like a prayer, humming in his ears. Wolfwood clenched his fists questioningly and decided that since he could feel the soft sheets beneath him, he must be awake, and not simply dreaming.   
  
Then that *was* Vash, gazing at him thoughtfully, not an apparition or a ghost - or was he? Blonde hair and wandering eyes that haunted the priest's every thought - tread the hallowed ground of his soul with intimacy no other had possessed...   
  
"Are you alright?"   
  
Wolfwood swallowed and nodded mutely, face half buried in the sanctity of his pillow, ignoring the pain slithering across his bruised cheek. "Yeah," he croaked.   
  
Vash shifted, and Wolfwood's whole world tuned in to that delicate motion.   
  
He was wearing the snap-and-buckle undersuit, its black leather criss-crossing his chest in a shy mockery of the scars beneath. When he moved, it creaked softly, comfortably as it shifted around his lanky frame   
  
It was one of those moments that seems to last forever, but really only spans the pulsing moments between heartbeats, years that are barely seconds, lost in the misty darkness of a room and a lie and a love.   
  
Oceans and smoke, their eyes. Oceans of palest blue green under suns long lost, smokey depths of souls waiting in the corners of bars, wreathing their faces lest they be seen. Smoke like wraiths. Oceans like the sky, that went on forever.   
  
'Don't touch what will never be yours....'   
  
Like an echo, between them. Wolfwood wasn't sure if he had actually spoken the words, or if he had dreamed them, or if Vash had reached calmly into his soul and extricated them from the mire that was there. Or was that his own madness and conscious, rubbing his face into the words that spelled out his death? Either way, the liquid eyes of the man across the room filled with secrets, and he shook his head. "What happened?"   
  
Wolfwood suspected he knew, but turned away, eyes closing in the darkness as if to escape to sleep once again, back to those charming, tempting depths. He lingered there on the edge of the twilight of his heart, then looked back up, meeting Vash's eyes with an even expression.   
The gaze held.   
  
"I heard a voice, Vash."   
  
The other nodded.   
  
"And..." Wolfwood looked away, words clogging in his throat like so many stones, sinking back to the pit of his stomach and filling that organ with butterflies, the likes of which the black-haired priest had never felt before. God, there were so many things he needed to put into words, so many tiny agonies and minute betrayals that would only be slain in the brilliant light of discovery. He needed to tell Vash what he was, and throw open his soul, and let those aquamarine eyes judge him as they would... he needed Vash to see him as he betrayed, as he fell from any semblance of grace that remained by his side. He needed to be divorced from those soft lips and glimmering eyes, from blonde and red and all of the ghosts associated with them that would never die. "Pain. It just....hurt." Your brother attacked me, he wanted to say, your brother hates me because I...I lo... "All I could think about was the fire in my mind and the fact that if I got away from you....if I moved, it would...cease."   
  
Vash's turn to look away, and he did, cupping his face in the metallic fingers of his cybernetic hand, the cold fake flesh shocking against his real skin tone. The gunman was not delicate, not by a long shot, Wolfwood knew that simply because he had seen Vash fight, seen him narrow his eyes and turn the full fury of his anger on another purpose. No, he was more graceful than delicate, each move calculated and planned - or was that his imagination playing tricks on his reasoning? Wolfwood tried to read the melting expression on his face, but seeing through that mask at this point was impossible - it was too dark. He was too tired. Vash's eyes -   
  
Tears.   
  
Wolfwood had never been lost in someone else's tears before. He had never watched with such a teetering madness as they slipped free from pools of innocence debauched and slid down the silky expanse of skin, catching for a moment at the swell of cheek and lips, freeing themselves and trickling down. So suddenly whipping free in a burst of motion and falling, falling, falling - plinking against a metal hand, against skin that was not skin, living, moving scar tissue, then sliding so quickly off water resistant metal... Striking the ground and disappearing, leaving nothing but a sorrowful stain where once had lain a sparkling tribute to grief and hate and wrongness.   
  
He watched, then, as Vash cried softly. Counting the tears, and labeling each one with a promise or a devotion or a memory that he would never be able to speak out loud - and yet as he watched, he did not allow himself a single tear - because if he cried, he feared he would never be able to stop.   
  
And besides, all the tears in the world couldn't save him now.   
  
Wolfwood had never been in love before. It was new ground - a new, treacherous minefield, with demons and shadows at every corner.   
  
"This is my fault," Vash whispered, fingers tightening fractionally, his soul pulling at Wolfwood's grief, begging for another weight to bear on his shoulders. Why was everything his fault? Why was he so damned helpless, why couldn't he just sit by and watch other people hurt and be glad it wasn't him?   
  
No, Wolfwood wanted to scream.   
  
"I've led them to you."   
  
No, you didn't. I led you to them. I'm leading you to them. I'm the spider your brother warned you about, Vash, I'm the spider - his lips would not form the words. "Who?"   
  
"There are....people...." Tears too thick, he closed his eyes, lashes filled with trickling tears that had yet to be shed. And his voice, broken and cracking as his shoulders shook violently, heaving with the sobs that wracked his frame...   
  
He was Vash the Stampede. He was the humanoid typhoon. He was terrified and sobbing, untouchable by humans, unreachable by his own, living for a dream that had died so many years ago that all those who had lived it were gone.   
  
Wolfwood reached out.   
  
'Don't touch...'   
  
It was there again, trembling in his breast, that aching, familiar pain that pricked between his ribs and grew in heat and intensity as he lifted his hand towards the figure of the gunman before him. It was the agony that had beset him previously, yet at the same time it was not - and he sensed, somehow, that there was a trip wire in his soul, that he had been chained away from Vash as utterly as if Midvalley *had* killed him there in the dirt and filth of a back alleyway, chained with terror and agony too great to be ignored or denied.   
  
'Don't touch....'   
  
Some sort of wall was in his mind, and when he brushed by it, the pain began again.   
  
But Vash was crying. But he was shaking so hard and his breaths were choked, gasps for air, he was crying as if the weight of the world was resting on his shoulders and it was all he could do to kneel beneath the sorrow of millions.   
  
'...never yours...'   
  
Wolfwood reached the edge of the bed, each millimeter a small mile, each heartbeat thundering in his ears like the waves on an ocean, such as he had never - and would never - witness. It ebbed and flowed around his consciousness until it was the only thing that existed, the horrible burning fire and Vash's cold tears.   
  
They fell. He concentrated on those that seeped through metallic fingers, seeking freedom in the dry air and bedclothes, and as they fell, he moved, thinking of nothing but those crystalline droplets as he set one foot, then the other, then shifted his weight.   
  
'...never...'   
  
He stood.   
  
He fell.   
  
No. Don't give in just because your nerves are being burnt raw and bleeding, just because you can't breath and your lungs are filled with superheated metal, and there's electricity biting along your back with fangs of paralysis and claws of hungry nothingness. Don't break.   
  
Tears are falling.   
  
Nicholas D. Wolfwood began crawling, even as he clenched his teeth so hard blood broke out from his cheeks, bitter against his tongue, and his fingernails, stubby as they were, marked perfect crimson crescents into the palms of his hands. Even as his vision blurred and reddened and dimmed, barely able to focus on those simple, beautiful, perfect, terrible tears.   
  
Vash was moving. He was dimly aware of the motion in the fact that the agony within his breast suddenly multiplied tenfold until he was curled in on himself, biting hard on his knuckles and screaming around the bloody mess of his mouth - and when Vash's hand brushed against his shoulder, the world seemed to freeze and tremble and hold so still like mythical dry ice holding a rose in a timeless void, falling -   
  
And the touch deepened. Vash kissed him, softly on the forehead, pulled him from the floor, and his rib cage began contracting, crushing inwards with a horrible, horrible twisting sound that filled his ears and made him struggle, blood pounding in his head and mouth and heart - can't breath - can't think - can't live -   
  
And it stopped.   
  
Just like that.   
  
Wolfwood sank like a rag doll into Vash's arms, sobbing dryly through a throat ravaged with screams, and the blonde's tears spattered his face. "Wolfwood, Wolfwood, no, they're hurting you, you can't come near me because it hurts..."   
  
He couldn't speak. He wanted to - he wanted to spill his secret - he wanted...   
  
Sleep.   
  
"Wolfwood, you didn't have to endure that for me..."   
  
Wanted to.   
  
"Please, Wolfwood, say something! Nick!" Almost hysterical, Wolfwood mused, with a dry sort of exhausted humor.   
  
"Lean down," the priest wheezed.   
  
Vash did, until they were nose to nose. "More."   
  
Blonde hair was falling in his eyes, soft like the breezes that haunted his dreams. "More."   
  
And then -   
  
And then -   
  
He leaned up, a slow movement, an agonized movement, and softly, ever so gently, ever so reverently kissed the tears from Vash's eyelashes -   
  
And smiled.   
  
~~~~   
There's no turning back   
We're in this trap   
No denying the facts   
No, no, no   
No excuses to give   
I'm the one you're with   
We've no alternative   
No, no, no   
  
Dark obsession in the name of love   
This addiction that we're both part of   
Leads us deeper into mystery   
Keeps us craving endlessly   
~~~~   
  
It was there, after that incident, a soft feeling in the back of his mind that grew whenever Vash was near. Sometimes it sounded like singing, sometimes like a dull, suppressed scream, though whenever Wolfwood turned his head and concentrated on the soft background noise, it would disappear, along with the shadows at the corners of his eyes. It didn't scare him like it would have at one time, nor was he overly curious as to what it was - but he did ask, and would never forget Vash's answer.   
  
"So, what is it?"   
  
The sunglasses that were the most vexing barrier in his life slipped down over the fine bridge of the gunman's nose. Knives' power seemed to have been curbed when Vash had touched Wolfwood and relieved him of his physical pain - at any rate, Vash's nearness no longer brought discomfort - which was relieving. "Hm?"   
  
"It. The sound. The...shadow. What is it?"   
  
"You can hear something?" Vash asked softly, eyes widening a bit. It was the expression of someone who had miscalculated and been caught. "What does it sound like?"   
  
"Laughter," Wolfwood paused to contemplate the subconscious tone, and it faded, as it always did. "And sometimes crying. It sounds like lots of things when I'm around you, it changes all the time."   
  
Vash stared at him for a moment, hard, as if he had seen a ghost, his face paling several shades and his eyebrows lifting into curved arches. Wolfwood took a step back and looked away, wondering if he had made some sort of mistake in admitting this to his companion.   
  
It had been days since Wolfwood's run-in with one Midvalley the Hornfreak, and he was no worse for the wear in the long run. Sore ribs, minor abrasions and lingering bruises were the only signs of injury or battle - other than the gouging mental scars.   
  
Of course, he was getting resilient where those where concerned.   
  
The most disconcerting thing he had borne that night was the almost-shadow that danced in the corners of his mind whenever Vash was present....   
  
"It's my aura," the blonde said at last, when Wolfwood thought he would go insane at the sheer silence in the room. "You're hearing it because I lent you my power that night," there was no need to point out which night he meant, all others might as well have never occurred when compared to that night of agony, "when you nearly let go."   
  
"Your....aura?"   
  
"It's....the basic nature of a person. It's not inherent - it changes all the time, fluctuating with attitudes and concerns, but for the most part it's good or bad. You're only hearing the echoes - I can see them. So can my attackers."   
  
Was that dual sound, laughter and tears and singing and a woman's voice...part of Vash's personality? "I'm hearing your thoughts?"   
  
"Not so much thoughts..." Vash smiled weakly at him, drumming his fingers on the table with a soft tic-tic-tic as he struggled to explain something that was obviously difficult. His gaze scanned Wolfwood's disbelieving face as the priest shook his head in shock and steadied himself against the nightstand in their small room. "More like...my mood, and memories, sometimes."   
  
Okay. Wolfwood could deal with the fact that he wasn't human, was immortal - but... if Vash could see through the emotions of every person on the face of the planet - that was scary. Too scary. "So... You hear this all the time? Everyone's?"   
  
"Only when I want to...and I *see* it more than hear it. I used to not be able to control it, but now it's like a skill that I only use when I need it... Sort of a trump card, you see?" Vash's expression was innocent and blank, totally fixed on displaying nothing but the calmest of satisfaction.   
  
Wolfwood wanted to hit him.   
  
"Does it bother you? You just recieved the power, so it's strong now, but it shouldn't last too long. I've shared energy with people before, and it was never permanent for them."   
  
The priest sat down heavily on the bed, and dropped his head into his palms - his mouth had quite suddenly gone dry at the implications of this. Was this why Vash trusted people so much - *could* he see the innocence buried in every individual, or did he simply choose to ignore the angry emotions? Was that why he could fight with such precision - he knew when people would fire their weapons? That's was impossible. But.... Could he....could he know.... "What sort of things can you see?" he asked, faintly.   
  
Oh, God, please don't let him know. Please say he can't see my false face, through the fabric of my existance....   
  
"Lots of things. Happiness. Exhaustion," a pause, "and lies."   
  
"Oh," Wolfwood breathed as aquamarine eyes settled on him, filled with something between pity and curiosity, something spookily human that made Wolfwood's skin crawl, knowing what he did about the plant before him. "Is that what...you see in me?"   
  
"I see lots of things in you, Wolfwood." His heart was pounding, thundering furiously as Vash pushed away from the bed and took a step closer, expression concerned. "And I know that a lot of what you've told me isn't true."   
  
No. No - please -   
  
"But I love you."   
  
The priest looked up through his dark bangs, staring hard at Vash as the red-coated gunman flopped down on the bed next to him. His expression was friendly and open, though his eyes were flashing with something much deeper than that...   
  
"And if what I fell in love with was the lie you created for me, that's alright. Because I can't fall out of love, and you can't end your lies. Doesn't that make us even?"   
  
His eyes were the eyes of a victim, his body that of a hero, and Wolfwood felt something give within his chest, something that almost seemed meaningless - something melted in his heart as those words were spoken.   
  
It was hard to breathe - because Vash knew, to an extent - what Wolfwood was.   
  
He *knew*. Maybe he'd known all along.   
  
And....   
  
He didn't care.   
  
Wolfwood leaned back, staring hard at the blonde through eyes that couldn't dare to believe what they saw was real. "How can you live like this? Look at how blind you are...you have no idea how dangerous I am, and you have no idea where I'm coming from. I could be a murderer, I could be a rapist, I could be so many things and you would never suspect me...."   
  
"Not so," Vash whispered, with another all-knowing smile. "You're a good person at heart. And... your eyes tell me that you don't want to hurt me. You would never hurt me."   
  
He gaped. "Not on purpose-"   
  
"The it would be an accident, and no fault of yours, so that's alright." An innocent smile.   
  
"It's not alright! Don't write it off like that. You'd still be hurt..."   
  
"I'll always be suffuring," Vash whispered, and it sounded like a masochistic promise as it fell from his lips. "It doesn't matter anymore."   
  
Wolfwood didn't know what to say to that.   
  
  
~~~~   
Strange compulsions that I can't control   
Pure possession of my heart and soul   
I must live with this reality   
  
I am you and you are me   
I am you and you are me   
I am you and you are me   
I am you and you are me   
  
There's no turning back   
We're in this trap   
No denying the facts   
No, no, no   
No excuses to give   
I'm the one you're with   
We've no alternative   
No, no, no   
~~~~   
  



	17. Sometimes I run

Chapter seventeen   
  
~~~~   
If I could walk a straight mile   
To write it down in shorthand, I could show you   
If you want me to   
And if I had an hourglass   
I'd save the grains of time I spent with you   
That's what I'd do   
But I remember, you always said it could be great   
And I knew it could be   
  
[Lucky Star - Goo Goo Dolls]   
~~~~   
  
The travel was growing more and more tiresome with each passing day. Wolfwood, as he and Vash moved across the desert towards Kansas and the other cities whose citizens had disappeared, had underestimated the sheer determination in which the blonde man moved. It was not obvious in his expressions or joking laughter, but under that lay a sense of utter purpose that could not be ignored, no matter how hard Wolfwood tried. And try he did!   
  
Every day had become a span of one thousand years in the priest's eyes, ears, and mind. It was an endless expanse of sand and dry, dry words - but when night fell, and the girls moved a ways away from the 'perverted priest' to sleep for the evening, there was rain at last. Rain - hell - there was a monsoon. There was anything but drought, when Vash turned those liquid eyes to his priest and stared at him through the darkness, he would drown in them, and he always did, and stay there the night, wrapped in golden arms.   
  
Things had changed after Legato's attack. First of all, Vash was almost protective of Wolfwood now - the few moments when danger had drawn near, the blonde had somehow managed to put himself before his priest in the line of fire. His very mind, Wolfwood could tell, with his semi-enhanced senses, had wrapped around the priest's and was clinging to it for all it was worth. That enhanced mind - which was receding with every passing moment. Already the mental 'noise' he had been subjected too was dampening and becoming less noticeable with each passing day, though Wolfwood wasn't sure if Vash was crushing the noise or if the effects of the plant's energy were simply wearing off. Probably a bit of both, seeing as how the nearly-immortal Stampede was fawning over him!   
  
Wolfwood was of mixed emotions when it came to Vash's protective embrace. One - he allowed the blonde to dominate him, but only at times - Wolfwood had always been an aggressive person, and even with Vash, old habits died hard. He needed Vash too much to wait for the blonde to instigate intimate moments - because now Vash was scared that any touch of his would send Wolfwood howling in pain, as it had before. Wolfwood himself, though the agony he had suffered through was still burned brightly in his mind, could not *stand* having Vash so close to him and yet not be his lover.   
Lover.   
  
He wasn't.   
  
It was maddening.   
  
Glancing touches here and there, and a *tension* that never disappeared were all the priest shared with Vash - well, tension and secrets. Each night they locked themselves together, skin on skin, and slept in a close embrace, though Vash, Wolfwood knew, laid awake for most of the night, keeping invisible demons away.   
  
That was how the priest knew Legato and Midvalley still trailed them, waiting for an opportunity to break them apart. Every so often there would be a brush against his mind, like ice being dropped down his shirt, and Wolfwood could do nothing but stand and shiver until Vash noticed and shoved the mental connection aside. That *frustrated* the priest, who had never been dependent on anyone before - at least not like this. Wolfwood had been terrified the first time Vash and Legato locked mental wills, afraid that Legato would open his mind in defeat and Vash would realize who exactly Wolfwood was, but each time they fought, Vash was left exhausted and shivering, but not hate filled.   
  
As for Midvalley, Wolfwood had to sleep with the windows closed no matter how muggy the air, lest the sound of a far-off saxophone rob him of all his rest each night.   
  
So, when they stopped at a small town with walls too high to be seen over, Wolfwood really hadn't a concern in the world, save how to get Vash in his bed, and how to stay alive. Really, hadn't he been in worse spots before?   
  
Right.   
  
~~~~   
Well there's a way you look at things   
That no one needs to know but you   
And you'd shout it with me   
Like every time the leaves would fall   
You promised me that they'd be back again   
And I believed in you   
You always said it could be great   
But I hadn't time to waste   
Now it seems that I've gone too far   
~~~~   
  
Women, Wolfwood believed, were an absolute marvel. There was something about the way they moved and thought and smiled that connected with people - children in this case - that men rarely could attain. A sense of - you and I are gentle and kind, and we can be happy together - even Vash couldn't pull it off as well as the 'girls', as they were affectionately dubbed by the two gunman. Shifting in the doorframe he shook his head and watched the shorter insurance girl as she moved around the kitchen - or rather, he watched Vash watch her, infinitely amazed by the tiny naunces of pain, regret, remorse - longing? - that crossed Vash's face as he moved.   
  
The priest made a grab for the soft music he could hear, the mood Vash was in - but it skittered away as it always did, on spindly legs that were faster than the mind could move. Vash was the one person he couldn't read, no matter how much energy had passed between them, how many intimate moments they had shared...   
  
Meryl, Wolfwood decided, reminded Vash of someone important.   
  
"Hey? Whatcha cooking?" Movement at his side, and Vash was gone, his pensive, almost thoughtful expression immediately replaced by eagerness that matched the children in it's hopeful intensity and disappointment when he was turned down and pushed away from the prospective meal. A face so childish and yet so tormented....   
  
Wolfwood edged away and began creeping down the hall, sidestepping a young blonde boy as he barrelled by. With a tired sigh, he made his way to the front of the building and flopped down, probing for a cigarette and groaning when none was withdrawn.   
  
He wished silently for a bottle of sake - then decided no, he would save the liquor they had for later, when the children wouldn't have to watch him get as drunk as possible. Nicholas D. Wolfwood was not the best of preachers, but he *did* care for the children - more than himself, more than Vash. This was, after all, the world they would inherit. And what a place it was! Sometimes it was so hard to look them in the eyes, knowing they would only grow up to pain, suffering, searing heat and an eventual sandy death... Sometimes he wanted to cry for them, his chest would tighten, but the tears wouldn't fall. Sometimes, though they were few and far between, he wanted to hit the young things and scream at them not to dream, not to hope, not to spread their wings, because once those feathers had tasted the wind and were clipped, it would be so hard to die without leaving the ground...   
  
"Mister Priest," a soft voice from behind him - Wolfwood turned and nodded as Milly wrung her hands nervously in the doorway. "Are you alright? You weren't with Mr. Vash, so I thought..."   
  
"I'm fine, honey, just sitting out here wishin' for a cigarette," the priest smirked and scooted to one side, patting the stone porch beside him invitingly. Milly beamed at him and flopped down at his side, her sleeves rolled up to her shoulders and her hair falling in her eyes - like a giant overgrown doll. She was different from Vash in that way - she really *was* innocent, and Vash was not. She was perceptive - much more than Wolfwood had first thought.... He was rapidly learning that while Milly was no scholar, she had a grip on people, on what they felt and hoped. Vash, of course, was the only exception - neither she nor Meryl understood him. Wolfwood could sense, now - with his extended senses - that all the taller of the two girls wanted to know - cared to know - was that Vash loved people, and that he was kind.   
  
He could feel a sort of satisfaction with that radiating from her - she accepted him with his secrets, as she accepted Wolfwood with his twisted morals, and accepted her short-tempered superior as simply people, not anything more, not anything less.   
  
Wolfwood slid an arm around her shoulder, and she leaned into him, soft and warm. So different from Vash in that way, too! She was all curves and gentle heat, he was cool and detached an inhuman -   
  
**Stop comparing them.** The priest told himself. He only loved one person. 'Person.'   
  
**Thinking like that is what's hurt Vash for so long. You don't have to be human to be....'human'....do you?** What was there to judge by? How could a person decide who and what shouldn't be a human being - which was so much more than a species, was a mindset, was a way of life? He checked for cigarettes again - caught himself - and smiled as wryly as he could at Milly, who smiled back.   
  
She was human. He was human. Why couldn't he have loved...?   
  
"You don't seem like you're alright," the girl persisted, a mock frown - almost petulant - settling across her features. "Did you and Mister Stampede have another fight?"   
  
"No, not really," Wolfwood rolled his eyes. "Best friends argue sometimes - but it's not really a fight."   
  
"I know. Sempai and I argue lots of times, but usually over silly things, and we always apologize," Milly reasoned out loud. Wolfwood could sense the concern her words masked, and he sighed softly.   
  
"Yeah. You girls are a great team."   
  
"You and Mister Vash are a great team."   
  
They sat for a few more moments, which Wolfwood spent staring at Milly's eyes as she cast them skyward - the stars above were so radiant, pricks of silver in the sky, that they shone in her eyes and in her smile as she moved... He spoke on a whim. "Milly," she blinked at the use of her name, "have you ever felt trapped? Really and truly, like a noose was tightening around your neck and there's no way to get out?"   
  
She stared at him, then turned inwards, thinking hard for a few moments. He could see the concentration flit through her eyes just as the stars had only moments before, and sighed. "No," the brunette answered at last, thoughtfully. "It seems to me that there's always going to be a way out. There has to be an answer, because no problem is impossible to solve."   
  
"Have you ever been afraid?"   
  
"Sure, lots of times."   
  
"Of what?"   
  
She leaned closer to him, and he inhaled the scent of her hair, sweet, soft. "Of...of losing my family, or my job, or sempai." Such naive concerns, Wolfwood stared at her, as she clasped his fingers in a gesture of open trust. "I was afraid when the Seeds ship fell, and when the moon caught on fire in the sky.... I'm a little afraid for Vash."   
  
The priest caught those words and clung to them. "Afraid of Vash?"   
  
"Not of him, really," Milly clarified shyly, "for him. He's so accident prone, how can anyone think he's dangerous?"   
  
"Trouble follows him, I guess." Trouble and friends.   
  
"But he's a nice man, he really is. They didn't believe us when we told the Company that...so sempai and I were the only ones that knew it... she was so excited to come find him again, you know. Sempai likes Mister Vash a lot."   
"She's not..."   
  
"I know! You like him, too. It's really hard *not* to like him, I think, with him living the way he does," Milly beamed from ear to ear and batted Wolfwood's hands away as he reached for his cigarettes. How come when the words fell from her lips, they sounded so much simpler and cleaner? "It's sweet the way he cares about you... I think maybe even sempai noticed, but she wouldn't admit it for the world."   
  
"...cares about me... I wish he didn't. I can't be with him forever."   
  
Milly blinked. "Forever? My dad always said.... 'who cares about forever'? It'll never happen... you see?" Wolfwood stared at her for a moment, and the cool night was only filled with shadows and the soft sound of laughter in the kitchen and dining area. "It doesn't matter if you aren't with him forever, you can always write him when you have to leave, or visit every so often. That's what I do-"   
  
Forever. Milly meant a separation of paths. Wolfwood meant death.   
  
"-with my family. I miss them a lot, but I write them letters and it seems to make everything better, you know? Like I can hear them all talking about home inside my head. You and Vash could do that, couldn't you?"   
  
"I...."   
  
"And besides," she turned her smiling eyes to him, "you're a preacher, there's always heaven."   
  
Heaven. An Eden..... "Heaven...."   
  
"Are you two ever going to come in and eat?" Wolfwood jumped, and Milly looked up, beaming at her superior.   
  
"Yeah, sure, Meryl! C'mon, Mister priest, let's see what they've been up to!"   
  
Wolfwood joined them moments later, a thoughtful look on his face. If he had been more aware, he would have realized that a pair of unfriendly eyes was watching him - eyes than knew far more than they should.   
  
~~~~   
As bright as you are don't get burned by your lucky star   
Bright as you are don't get burned by your lucky star   
Written down in hard bound books   
The way things used to be, they ain't for me   
I'd swear they're all for you   
We said sugar, gramps said shoot   
Her momma said shit, I don't know what she'll do   
As if it's up to you   
~~~~   
  
"I have alcohol!" Wolfwood proclaimed with a grin, slamming his bag down on top of the table - the bottles clanged together obscenely as he was greeted with Vash's anticipation filled smile. "Been saving it for days!"   
  
"What a feat," the blonde beamed, reaching for a bottle with nimble fingers - now that they weren't in front of the children, there were no objections to a bit of liquid relief. He was still wearing the mask of utter amusement he had donned at the dinner table - Wolfwood, however, wasn't fooled by the fake smile. He had seen the almost sad, reminiscent look Vash had given the children as Meryl tucked them into bed with gentle fingers - and he didn't need to hear the humming aura hovering in that room to realize that Vash was recalling another child, another woman, and another time. "You, stockholding beer?" The question was sarcastic, teasing, and affectionate, if not genuine.   
  
"Hey, I can control my drinking as well as the next man!" Wolfwood flopped down in his seat , popped the cap off his first bottle and raised it solemnly - moments later Vash joined him at the other side of the table and followed his motions. On a whim, Wolfwood looked up and met the other man's eyes. "To...what should we toast to?"   
  
The priest had half expected some cocky remark about love and peace or donuts or something bland like that, but to his surprise, Vash's aquamarine eyes looked thoughtful as he considered the question - thoughtful and a little sad. "Let's toast to the children," he murmured at last, seeming very pleased with his answer.   
  
Children. Wolfwood had grown up an orphan, trained to murder in the name of an unforgiving God. Vash had been gifted be powers inhuman and pristine, sullied by the death of millions... and these little girls and boys had already been rendered homeless and family-less by a twist of fate. Toasting to them would be toasting to the damned...and yet...   
  
Wolfwood shrugged, and the necks of their bottles clinked softly in the twilight of the dimly lit room. **To the children...may they have a future. Happiness - hope - More than a simply future is too much to ask for.** They both drank, and then moments later, Vash was at his side, looking worried. "Wolfwood..."   
  
"Yeah?" the priest stretched his arms and wrung out the crick in his neck that had been forming all day long. It felt good to settle down with good company, to stretch out his legs and arms and knotted shoulders - but the look in Vash's eyes foretold a long, deep conversation.   
  
Wolfwood groaned.   
  
He didn't want that - anything but that. After Vash's energy had been imparted to him, Wolfwood was too scared to open up his mind - or his heart for that matter - to the innocent demon before him. What if he were discovered, now when he felt like life was peaking all at once?   
  
Vash was worried, and for a moment Wolfwood wondered if he should take the fear in his eyes seriously. "There's something...."   
  
"You look sad," The priest cut him off shortly, effectively reclaiming control of their conversation - one hand snaking out and catching Vash by the wrist. "Stop talking like that if it's what fills your eyes with all those tears," he glared at Vash sharply.   
  
"But I feel like-"   
  
"Just for tonight?" The blonde was reluctant to leave his fears for an offered safe haven, in his own masochistic way - Wolfwood leaned up and pulled Vash downwards, kissing him softly on the cheek. He *wouldn't* let Vash spend this night remembering, hurting... They could never have forever, but they did have now... and if 'now' couldn't be happy, couldn't be close and intimate, when would it ever be? "Please. Don't cry, not tonight."   
  
"They'll hurt you if I don't-"   
  
"I'm not asking you," Wolfwood said astutely, "to drop your guard. I'm asking you to try and forget, just for one night. Once."   
  
Vash stiffened in his arms for a final moment, then seemed to relax utterly, melting against Wolfwood's body like a child against his father's breast, sinking into the comfort of strong arms and smoky cloth. The blonde hair tickled Wolfwood's chin as Vash burrowed his head against the hollow below the priest's ear, sighing softly. "Just for tonight."   
  
They leaned back in the wooden chair together, Wolfwood cradling the blonde and reaching for his bottle again - he took a long swig, and then Vash reclaimed it, downing the rest. When the pleasant buzz of alcohol finally set in, token kisses were exchanged, gentle against skin and hair and coarse fabric.   
  
'And besides...you're a preacher, there's always heaven.'   
  
God.   
  
What was God?   
  
What was heaven, other than this gentle cool breeze of kisses? What was completion if it wasn't inhaling the scent of another, one who he loved with all of his soul for no reason at all? How could Eden be more tangible than this...?   
  
As a preacher, he had spent his life telling the masses of the salvation that awaited them if they only had faith, while in his heart that flicker of hope that he had nourished with all of his soul slowly burned away.   
  
Salvation, he was learning, existed in one thing alone...   
  
Wolfwood kissed Vash's beauty mark and then the tip of his nose in an open display affection he never dared to show when sober - and Vash's wistful eyes took on a warmer look, filling with something between surprise and utter delight. Another pair of empty bottles met the floor, and Vash began playing with his hair, braiding the floppy strands tightly and giggling drunkenly as the black threads unwound themselves in a whirling fray.   
  
It was innocent, his genuine smile and beautiful. Wolfwood kissed him then, softly exploring his mouth as Vash acquiesced almost instantly, his hands coming up to rest on the taller man's shoulders as they touched. It grew deeper, tongue on tongue, their breath hissing and mingling together as they broke away and rejoined -   
  
Then Wolfwood pulled away. Vash stared at him blankly for a moment, before snuggling up against his chest like a well-sated red-clad kitten. "Not tonight," the priest shook his head, grinned lopsidedly down the bridge of his nose at Vash, alcohol heavy on his breath. "That's too close... Too much."   
  
"I love you," Vash told him promptly, kissing the corner of his mouth. He tasted like cheap liquor.   
  
I love you. Three words, so easy, so close - "I..." The blonde looked up, eyes filling with a hope that didn't subside until Wolfwood shied away from the startling admission. "I ... I can't imagine life without you."   
  
So close, and yet...   
  
He could hear Vash's heart beating in a soft, delicate tempo that so belied the proud figure he cut as a gunslinging outlaw - Wolfwood sighed and lifted a finger to the blonde's lips, tracing along the swell and curve with an adoring touch. "It's alright," Vash whispered, his breath licking along Wolfwood's hand, making the other shiver. The blonde promptly abandoned the mere touch and took one of the priest's fingertips into his mouth, smiling around the obtrusion.   
  
His eyes....   
  
Wolfwood caught his breath as Vash's mouth sought out the crevices of his palm and dropped a delicate kiss there, a shy smile on his face. "It's alright," he promised. "I understand."   
  
No, Wolfwood thought as he leaned forward and kissed Vash again. You never will.   
  
~~~~   
But I remember, you always said it could be great   
But I hadn't time to waste   
Now it seems that you've gone too far   
As bright as you are don't get burned by your lucky star   
Bright as you are don't get burned by your lucky star   
~~~~   
  
Funny how, when the world is on the brink of shattering, little things were easy to fixate on, the pulsating of a heart or the blowing of the wind, the crunching sound of gravel underfoot as a man walked to his own execution. Wolfwood, at the moment, was suffering greatly in that manner as one little bead of sweat slid it's way down the small of his back.   
  
It trickled further, his finger tightened, the tension so heavy it was nearly alive. **Vash, what are you doing? Are you trying to get killed?**   
  
He was trying to get the gun. That idiot was *actually* trying to steal a weapon from a *Gung-ho Gun.*   
  
"No," the priest hissed, hauling his gun up and aiming. That little child was not a child, it was a monster - Vash was the innocent. Vash was the one poised on the edge of death, though he believed he was safe. Nicholas D. Wolfwood knew what sort of man made a Gung-ho Gun, knew the desperation and the life of hatred, of fear, of gut-instinct that shaped one of Legato's henchmen - he knew the fate ten times worse than death that awaited one of the Guns when they failed a mission. And he knew that, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the only weapon that would fall would be Vash's, and it would be crushed beneath his bleeding corpse....   
  
At that moment, the logic was cool and hard, and it was all that Wolfwood could see. There was no vision of a small blonde child rolling in his sleep, crying at a nightmare that was his alone to bear, there was no thought of small hands carrying laundry or minute feet skipping around the side of their shabby car - there was only the barrel of a gun, and Vash's outstretched fingers - asking, in that suicidal, masochistic, sadistic way he had of asking for scars, defeat, or even death.   
  
Damned innocent. Too innocent. To pure, an Eden without weapons or fighting or hatred, to pure to ever be real...to ever survive. Nothing innocent would ever last.   
  
Child or not, the monster was a Gung-ho Gun. Like Wolfwood. Small though his fingers were, they were no less deadly when clinched around the trigger of a weapon that was *not* a playtoy. Regardless of age, Zazie the Beast was a lost soul, had been since he had been sighted by the golden-eyed killed her now answered too..... Just like Wolfwood - Chapel - the only way to truly release him, to defeat him, to overcome him was to kill him, render him lifeless as the sand drank of his blood.   
  
So Wolfwood did.   
  
And the pull of the trigger itself was as easy as it had been the first time, so many years ago.   
  
~~~~   
Your lucky star will burn out   
Your lucky star can turn you 'round   
Your lucky star will burn out   
Your lucky star can turn you 'round   
Turn you 'round, turn you 'round, turn you 'round   
They're gonna turn you around   
~~~~ 


	18. Sometimes the world goes upside down

Chapter eighteen   
  
  
~~~~   
Why do you stare me down?   
Am I wrong?   
Should I turn and kiss the ground?   
And I never felt that way   
I ain't the one and you know I don't come from such a place   
  
And I didn't get those things   
Things that you can't grow   
You say that it's all my fault   
And I don't need to know   
  
[So Far Away - Goo Goo Dolls]   
~~~~   
  
It was liquid and cool, like sand melted and fused and rolling in bubbly, creamy lava-rivers - and at the same time it was all gray and inviting, icing on a cake. It was everywhere and nowhere whatsoever, it was an existence that had none, no physical edge to a world where emotions were alive, were the very fabric of everything.   
  
They were walking there, together, through the void that was both there and yet not. Wolfwood was staring out at the flickering landscape, reflecting that if his eyes were being truthful, he should have drowned long before - however, since he was living, he assumed that this world was a bit different from his own - before pushing the matter away. It didn't quite matter, did it?   
  
There had been a question, hadn't there? What was he trying to answer? The priest placed a finger on his temple and pulled the curious query from the back of his subconscious. Finally, he settled on it - through it was like trying to pin a rainbow on the surface of oily, dirty water.   
  
"It's like I'm blind, walking down a dark tunnel with no walls and no floor and I don't know where I'm going. And there's someone's hand, reaching to me - and I can feel that - but no matter how fast I run or how desperately I reach, there's nothing there."   
  
The woman smiled gently, running her fingers through her dark hair. She was wearing clothes far too casual for Wolfwood to really notice - and that was the very reason he did, taking in the soft white shirt and baggy jeans with near-suspicion. They were pristine, despite the inky blue around her - and she looked out of place against that backdrop - too clean to be submerged in this filthy sin. "Are you that lonely?"   
  
He looked away. "Yeah."   
  
"And you don't know what you're looking for..."   
  
"I know that somewhere, there's a monument. I was told of that, and told that Vash had to see it, no matter what the cost. So far it's cost me everything - my heart, my soul, whatever future I might have had - not to mention, I'm sure, my life. All of that sacrificed, just so that Vash can be tossed back into the cesspit of Knives' obsession. I'm a fool."   
  
These dreams, they'd been so common, he reflected. And this woman, a counselor in the night, easing him through his worst nightmares... "I've killed a child. What can I say about myself with a death like that on my hands?"   
  
The woman looked away, sighing softly. Small bubbles danced at the corners of her lips and disappeared, floating away into nothing at all - the look she wore was the same that Vash sometimes displayed, when he was reflecting on a decision that had been made and could never be changed - however, when she looked back at him, all of the concern in her eyes had evaporated and was replaced by a gentle, sheepish grin.   
  
Wolfwood felt a bitter, stabbing feeling invade his chest, and he narrowed his eyes. "Don't smile like that. You don't know what it's like to break away from the morals you've known your entire life! You don't know what I felt, pulling that trigger - damn Vash for needing someone to cover him, damn his stupid beliefs!"   
  
She bit her lip. "No, don't even give me that look! You, who's haunted my dreams and echoed in my waking hours! What are you, a ghost, a demon? I have no need for those! Vash is demon enough with his fucking eyes and those damned scars..."   
  
"I appreciate you taking care of him, you know," she smiled a smile that lit up the not-water around her and made Wolfwood shiver slightly and the purity behind it - enough to make him feel ten times dirtier than even Vash did. "Sometimes he just can't take care of himself."   
  
"Well, I'm doing a shitty job," Wolfwood grimaced and reached for a cigarette, more out of habit than necessity. To his surprise, the woman didn't comment as inhaled without even lighting the nicotine-stick, and the drag was satisfactory - she just regarded him with a sort of omnipotent, opinion-less smile. It was almost frightening, her look of all-encompassing love... "It's just a matter of who dies first, now. There's nothing I can do to change anything."   
  
"Are you afraid of death?" The woman tilted her head inquisitively, and Wolfwood suppressed the urge to scoot closer to the warmth in her gaze, away from their cold surroundings.   
  
"Let's go back to the damn tunnel - if I'm blind and deaf and dumb, death is the light at the end of the tunnel. Only, the tunnel has no end, and the light is a change of some sort, whether it's good or bad or really anything at all, it's something. You see?" He took a long drag of his cigarette, and the nicotine tasted sweeter than the finest wine. "I'm blind, and Vash is following me. He's a damn usable fool. Pushover."   
  
"He's like that because he wants to be like that," the girl looked down, hair falling in front of her slightly-guilty eyes. "I think that to him, being used is close to being loved - maybe because of Knives, or maybe because he's never really been *loved* for who he is since Knives left him. By now he doesn't know the difference anymore, between love and hate.   
  
Wolfwood leaned back. Difference between love and hate? As separate as black and white, existence and nothing, Vash and Knives.   
  
"I read a book once, " she said, looking up. "It was about a woman who broke away from her society and morals, defying everything, just so that she stay near with the man she loved and the father of her child. They were never acknowledged until he lay dying in her arms on a scaffold of sin - but in the end, they were open and honest, and buried beside each other."   
  
"I don't read books," Wolfwood spit.   
  
"You should." A sigh, and she tugged habitually on the necklace around her neck. "You've followed Vash now for months, haven't you? And I've guided you as best I can.... because I love him, and Knives, too." a pause. "Do you?"   
  
"Love...?"   
  
"Do you love Vash?"   
  
The woman was leaning closer to him, her chocolate eyes boiling into his soul. "Nicholas, it's important that you answer. Please, and answer honestly. Do you love Vash the Stampede?"   
  
"I... Who the hell are you, anyway?!" Wolfwood leaned back, his cigarette nearly falling from his lips. The water-air swirled and sucked around him, pulling him towards blackness that he desperately feared - the blackness was waking up from this peaceful, serene paradise of blue.   
  
"You should know by now," she whispered, though her eyes asked the question again and again. Vash, with his soft, fake smiles and the honest agony that was as much a part of him as the plate across his breast... Wolfwood found his throat closing up, unwilling to admit his feelings, but unable to deny them after being taken into Vash's closest confidence.   
  
"I.....do."   
  
  
~~~~   
Tell me something I don't know   
And I'll find that I'm always looking 'round behind me   
You said that it's all been said before   
Now I find that there's something I don't know   
  
And I hate your attitude I ain't scared at all 'Cause it don't matter what you do   
And I'll turn around to see the truth   
~~~~   
  
They stopped in front of the monument, and Wolfwood stared over the rim of his sunglasses. He could help himself, after hearing and talking about it for so long, the sinister monument seemed more than just a threat - its red-smeared surface glared in the harsh light with an unwinking gaze that sent shivers down the priest's back. It was...one word, etched in blood, that echoed and multiplied the power of Knives and his fellows. It was...   
  
Terrifying, really. Wolfwood hated it, and wished he had never bothered to fulfil his mission.   
  
The bike he was so proud of, a dusty, filthy thing, had broken down just on the outskirts of town - for once with timing that Wolfwood was grateful for. Those last few blocks had been so tense, with Vash at his side, trembling with indecision. Wolfwood could tell that as much as the blonde trembled in fear of what he might find, he also was desperate to see some sign of his sibling - Vash did, Wolfwood decided, care for Knives. Maybe a little - or maybe a lot. The priest *knew* that the brothers were more than that - in a surreal way he sometimes glanced at Vash and saw instead the chilling face of Knives staring back through those soft eyes - and now when he recalled those days as a Gung-ho Gun proper, it was easy to picture Vash's scarred body beneath brilliant red-and-gray of the shipsuit Knives wore.   
  
So he had watched as Vash first laid eyes on the monument left behind by his brother and lover, seen the blonde eyes fill with fear, anger, and strangely enough, an odd expression of what could almost be called love - a sense of being wanted. Seeing that there sent shivers of almost-emotions through Wolfwood's body and down his spine to coil loathing-ly in the pit of his stomach. Jealousy, soft and seductive, began to burn softly in the back of his mind - until Wolfwood turned away from that, narrowing his eyes.   
  
They said you never forgot your first kiss, your first lover. Wolfwood remembered his, so why be surprised that Vash looked back on Knives - his very brother - with still-warm emotions?   
  
Because he was a bastard. Because Knives had - for however long Vash's immortal life had been - made him miserable, manipulated his brother and those innocents that surrounded him. *That* was why. And why love Knives, when Wolfwood was here, ready, waiting - ?   
  
Not anymore. The priest threw down a wrench and stared darkly at his bike. Ever since the incident with Zazie (Wolfwood's mind glossed over that, shoving away the breakdown he could feel bubbling to the surface like poison before it could emerge) and the sandworms, things had been utterly different between he and Vash. It wasn't quite an argument - just a distance, as wide as the cliff had been on that night when Vash had fallen, angel in all but wings, from the brilliant heights to the bosom of the planet. That distance was holding him away, and had been for the last few weeks   
  
All of that, and the little sensation in the back of Wolfwood's mind that was growing with alarming speed. A hunted feeling -   
  
Eyes, on the back of his neck, that burned there like twin flames. The priest looked up, and caught his breath, as a single object caught his eyes.   
  
Chapel.   
  
There was an apple, small and green and perfectly formed, clutched in the palm of the older, 'wiser' man - and as he leaned against the wall, smiling the smile of someone with secrets, Wolfwood couldn't suppress a shudder. Eyes that were calculating behind red-hued glasses traced over Wolfwood's body, as the priest moved closer, stood, stared at the man that had raised him from the age of seven, had taught him to fire a gun, to cheat at poker, to kiss, to kill.   
  
Chapel, whose name he had taken.   
  
The name came with a thousand memories, and all of them bad - most centered around the fruit in his palm. Seeing him here with Vash so close by gave the priest a thrill that was most definitely unwelcome - because Chapel's presence meant something had changed in the plan. He wasn't supposed to be here... not now. Not here.   
  
Something was said, something plain and unimportant, and Wolfwood responded, muttering about trouble makers in a vain attempt to respond while his tongue felt leaden between his lips. He couldn't take his eyes off that damn apple, couldn't help the fascination he had always seen the fruit with - it was forbidden.   
  
Forbidden fruit. Heh. Some things never changed.   
  
Wolfwood reached for the apple again, but it disappeared a moment before his hand neared the orb, and he bit back a half-sob at the closeness, the proximity of victory and then sudden defeat. That apple-   
  
In his mind, the priest settled back on the oldest of legends, the first he had known, of Adam and Eve and the serpent that had tempted them with a glittering apple and the promise of all the knowledge in the world. Innocence had been lost when a bite was taken from that fruit - and as Wolfwood watched Chapel's skilled hands curling and uncurling around his green playtoy, he couldn't help but wonder if - when he *did* manage to capture that elusive apple - his facade of innocence would be dropped and he could move onwards into the sin he already held within himself. Because wasn't that all he was? A lie? A fake sort of person, a 'priest' with nothing but a love for children and God? That was what he had told Vash so long ago, though the lie no longer held water between them. Still....   
  
With that apple would come a release from his lie. When he at last devoured that fruit, he could *live* the sin, instead of wrapping it under so many little masks, until he himself had disappeared beneath the layers and perfect round green skin. And that release in itself was worth more than a thousand years of carefully spun untruths...   
  
More words. He kept his eyes trained on his mentor, assured himself that the small smirk of quiet defiance was safe on his lips - a lie, just like the rest of it, just like him, a defense against what might come. Whether or not Chapel realized what was going on inside his student's head, Wolfwood would never know - but as long as he was going to lie to the world, the priest would lie to *all* the world, no matter who they were. Nobody needed to know who he was... Nobody needed to understand him.   
  
"...and from now on you too are a Gung-Ho Gun."   
  
No. Wolfwood wanted to open his mouth and say no, no I'm not, I'll never be like that again, but the words wouldn't come, and he turned numbly away, the shame of that admission burning in his chest as be began moving again, searching a cool place to sit in his misery. He didn't *want* to be like that - that was the horrible thing. He just wanted...Vash, to be near Vash. It was a need that was terrifying in it's awful strength, quiet and unforgiving. He had killed one child - would kill another, if it meant Vash could continue smiling - and that simple admission tore Wolfwood up inside.   
  
Chapel was staring at him, and Wolfwood gulped back air, trying to speak - a rough nod, a bitter stare, and he reached for his cross, fingers hooking mechanically around leather straps.   
  
Zazie. A monster - but a child. A *child.* Vash...   
  
He passed Vash, by the monument, stared into mourning eyes for a moment before looking away, unable to stand the guilt and terror there. He just kept moving, picking a door, swinging it open, slinging his cross down and cupping his head in his hands, unable to think or move or breath.   
  
A Gung-ho Gun, just when he was understanding what it meant to be free, to actually care -   
  
Wolfwood didn't even realize he was crying until another person entered the room, and he was forced to hide his eyes, lest his tears be seen.   
  
~~~~   
You're tearing it down, yeah, you're bringing it down   
And it's all on you   
And I didn't get those things   
Things that you can't grow   
  
You say that it's all my fault   
And I don't need to know   
Tell me something I don't know   
And I'll find that I'm always looking 'round behind me   
You said that it's all been said before   
~~~~   
"Please...eat the sandwiches."   
  
Soft. Nice. A stable angel in his arms - Wolfwood leaned against Milly's shoulder, sighing as her arms slipped around his neck. Before he really knew what was happening, there were tears in his eyes again, and she was stroking the back of his neck, her fingers long and gentle. She smelled sweet -   
  
She was going to go. He clutched convulsively at her sleeves, staring up.   
  
"Will you eat them with me?"   
  
Don't leave me, don't leave me, please I can't be alone please don't go please -   
  
In moments she was perched on the couch next to him, her eyes wide pools of compassion as she regarded him almost nervously. For a moment they were silent, staring at one another with nothing to be said - and then Wolfwood had opened his arms, and she curled herself against him, her head coming just below his chin, despite her height. Wolfwood tightened his grip, clinging to her like a drowning man -   
  
Wasn't she like the boy he had shot? Innocent and childish despite her appearances? Hadn't he snuffed a similar candle out only days before -   
  
"It wasn't your fault, you wanted to save Vash," Millie whispered, her breath warm against his cheek. She seemed to draw the tension from his body into her own, in the way only the most innocent can manage to do. "You used the best choice you had, mister priest."   
  
The best solution? No, there was always a way to save everyone, wasn't there? Vash said so... Wolfwood clung to that, feeling his vision and hearing swim in waves of uncertainty. Vash said so. "I should have saved everyone."   
  
God.   
  
For a moment Wolfwood tried to bolster the illusion that he had released Zazie from the hell this world was - but he couldn't really believe that. It was a belief that simply pushed his breakdown away, an automatic function of a mind that desperately sought self-preservation...   
  
"I hate this," it was practically a prayer. Hell, it was more honest than any of his sermons... Idealistic religious crap. He hated that, too. Hated Vash's eyes.   
  
"I know," she whispered, and kissed his cheek so lightly that it almost seemed like a dream. The priest buried his face in her hair for a moment and inhaled sharply, tasting the soft scent that was distinctly feminine, warm and comforting. If only Vash were that gentle and soft through and through, if only Vash was speaking to him, if only the pain would leave his eyes -   
  
Wolfwood kissed the girl gently, eyes closed as he sank forward. Would he ever taste Vash again...? Would he ever fulfill the love that was so difficult to put into words? Would the Gods ever cease this endless game of cat and mouse and either let him free or crush him, either option a sweet release from limbo?   
  
She kissed back, and for a moment that was all that mattered, he could pretend there was another in his arms, and the cloth he was peeling away could be tattered crimson, not dull white and mahogany...   
  
Fabric shifted.   
  
Someone moaned, moved, sighed. It didn't matter who. Wolfwood was falling.   
  
"M...mister priest...?"   
  
Maybe it was the way she said it, or the breathy tone of her voice, or the lack of scars dancing across her pale flesh - but Wolfwood looked up, and stared into eyes that were *not* fear-laced and timeless, but human and effused with emotion.   
  
Not...Vash?   
  
He slipped back, staring hard at her as she blushed faintly and crossed her arms over her nearly-bare chest, suddenly modest as he stumbled for words, groping for sense in the situation. "Millie-"   
  
"You need a distraction, don't you, mister priest?" the girl smiled up at him, faintly. "Since Mister Vash is so angry..I th-thought I could help..."   
  
Wolfwood shifted against her and sat back, shaking his head in a vain attempt to clear his thoughts. What was he doing? Millie was an innocent - and if he needed distraction, she shouldn't be the one to do it. Distraction....that was how Wolfwood had always summed up his relationship with Midvalley, and look what had happened there? He wasn't sure what had gone wrong, but somehow 'love' had been thrown into the mix - and the way Millie was looking at him...   
  
He tried to ignore the insistent, nagging voice that told him sleeping with the girl would be cheating on Vash.   
  
**There's nothing to cheat on,** he screamed at himself, slamming a fist down into the pillow and grimacing as tears began running down his face again. So weak... It wasn't *fair*. How could he feel such attachment? How could *he*, Nicholas D. Wolfwood, care so fucking much about someone that never... that couldn't....That didn't reciprocate what he felt? That couldn't compromise their morals for the beliefs he held himself? It was a fucking weakness, coiling in his heart, like poison in his veins. Even if Knives *would* let him go, Wolfwood felt like a tiger that had lost it's teeth - Vash's sweet words had been the guilty candy, tempting him into this new realm, where he could barely stand.   
Sobbing, Wolfwood curled up against himself and bit his lip as hard as he could, concentrating on the pain to make everything go away. All of the hurt, anger, bitter resignation that rang through his chest and heart with every pump of blood...   
  
Nicholas D. Wolfwood wanted to die, right there, on the dark bed in Millie's soft arms - but he settled for burying his face against her chest, the sexual tension of moments before gone as his soul broke itself all to pieces.   
  
It wasn't fair. God, but it wasn't...   
  
Vash...where was Vash? Was he dreaming of fields of gold and a long haired woman -   
  
Or of the blonde-haired psychopath Wolfwood would shortly be delivering him to?   
  
~~~~   
Now I find that there's something I don't know   
And I know   
I don't know   
And I say that   
~~~~   
  
Shaking, as he reached out, plucked it free, held it's even weight in his palm - completion, like a piece of himself had been uncovered. The sweetest thing he had ever tasted...   
  
He looked up. Stood a bit straighter as he met the older man's eyes.   
  
Smiled, and meant it.   
  
"May you go with God's protection..."   
  
The gunshots didn't end.   
  
~~~~   
If you break enough glass and there's no one to hear   
And your heart's full of hate   
'Cause your mind's full of fear   
  
Let it go   
So far away   
So far away   
So far away   
Oh so far away   
So far away   
So far away   
~~~~ 


	19. Sometimes the end seems so close

Chapter nineteen   
  
  
~~~~   
~~~~   
  
As a rule, Nicholas D. Wolfwood had never feared the terrible claws of death. In an occupation as dangerous and uncertain as his own, death was lurking around every corner, like a stray cat or secret lover, ready to rip and tear - and once it had a hold on you, it was ever so difficult to free yourself. Fearing that final end simply made one paranoid, which more often than not sped along the object of terror as it made it's way inevitably towards your soul - death came and went as it pleased, and if it passed you over, you had escaped, and if not - why worry? That was how he had always envisioned the struggle to survive, anyway. A rather foolish endeavor on this hellish planet. Death... Sometimes it was seen as release, sometimes as a friend long away, and more often than not as the epoch of life and the grand finale of all that was existence.   
  
So Wolfwood, priest, gunman, mercenary - had long courted death in his lifetime, and now that he could feel it breathing harshly down his neck, sending ice through his stomach and mind... It was almost relaxing, the certainty, the knowledge that in mere hours everything would be alright. Gone. Endless nothingness, no pain, no fear, no thought -   
  
This planet was hell. Oblivion could be no worse.   
  
Of course, it was impossible to be sure that oblivion indeed would welcome souls - Wolfwood mused silently as he dragged himself down the street, too proud to call for help and too obsessed with the relief that was only moments away to concentrate on something more real - like dressing his wounds. A prisoner in his own mind, his throat clogged and his heart pounded, shoulders and chest aching with his injuries and the weight he bore. The Cross Punisher dragged behind him, leaving a trail of skid marks in the dust as testimony of his passing.   
  
The only item needed to make the allusion complete was a crown of thorns perched across his head.   
  
Death was, Wolfwood sighed as blood trickled down his chest, like the final battle in the last act of a famous play. If he fought the ice and frigid blankness, then he would eventually lose - and somehow, some small part of him wanted that final fall into the void to be peaceful. As many times as he had smirked at the thought of going down in a burst of sparkling flame, there had always been a small voice in his mind, whispering of old age, joint ale, sand-cough. If you fought, you would lose beyond a shadow of a doubt. If you let the current of fate take you with it into the abyss, well, that wasn't a loss.   
  
Grandchildren... The very thought was like something out of a dream - or maybe a nightmare, in it's own little way. Or a little of both - the difference between light and dark had disintegrated when Vash entered his life, and these days Wolfwood was lucky if he could get away with anything without being stalked by morals and concerns for other souls, choices left unmade, decisions that could have changed the world. Almost like a disease, Vash's soft words and gentle smiles...   
  
It was seeping down his undershirt, licking and staining his stomach and chest a dark crimson - it was even seeping through the already-charcoal hue of his suit's jacket... Warm, like the sand and sun, but not like Vash, no, Vash had never been anything but deep and dark and inviting.   
  
Dripping on the dusty ground, now, spattering in little droplets across his shoes, the cuffs of his dark slacks. Wolfwood looked down and tried to focus on the growing pool in the dirt beneath him, while his breathing seemed fainter and fainter, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that he needed to get somewhere, say something - didn't most people want to leave something behind when they died?   
  
He closed his eyes for a moment, secure in the knowledge that he would leave nothing but bleached bones and bitter memories. There was no future, and no past. Nothing mattered, just...   
  
Now, something needed to be said - he looked up woozily and blinked as the buildings of the shadowy town grew up around him - he was moving, unaware as one foot plunged before the other, sinking into the sand and then rising again, shifting weight, shifting pain.   
  
Vash...?   
  
Vash. So maybe he had one regret, or maybe two, or ten thousand - he didn't know anymore. Maybe life was regret, maybe that's what history was, a fabric of could-beens and would-beens and regret that couldn't be appreciated until opportunity and second chances had died away.   
  
After all, how many times had he shied away from kissing? How many times had he skirted the words that might have at last brought Vash's slender body to rest in his arms? How many tiny mistakes had given birth to arguments and destruction...?   
  
It didn't matter, nothing mattered anymore.... but...... where was Vash? "......he......"   
  
More blood hit the ground, but Wolfwood was too detached to notice it, wiping blood and bands out of his eyes, looking up as best he could as the pain shot up and down through his torso. Everything seemed so far away, untouchable... He swung the Cross Punisher up over his shoulder and shifted again, groaning as his stomach coiled in agony.   
  
It hurt...so badly. Like a thousand stabbing knives...   
  
The irony of it made Wolfwood chuckle and collapse into a fit of bloody coughing.   
  
It seemed like ten thousand years, but there he was - Vash, leaning against the car, his head in his hands, probably crying over something, the priest guessed. Caine. Wolfwood stood a bit straighter, even as his wounds protested - death now had him in it's claws, and he had no desire to escape it. To seek a way out of this fate would be to forfeit his final battle, and he couldn't do that - not after the life he had led. All the people he had killed had gone silently, and those who had pleaded and struggled with his gun to their head - he had less respect for them than he did for the silent, prepared victims of his bullets. He would not be one of those who sobbed and clung to this worthless life...he would not treat these wounds, allow himself to be crippled and injured. He would rather die than...die...   
  
Wolfwood stopped in the midst of his pilgrimage, and watched Vash, a soft smile on his lips. "What's wrong?"   
  
"I...failed to save another life."   
  
Of course. Caine was never the stable-est of Gung-ho Guns, silent and emotionless and pale... his end didn't surprise Wolfwood all that much - but Vash's reaction touched him, as it always did. Was it really just minutes ago that Wolfwood had challenged Vash in one last attempt to be who he was supposed to be, to avoid the noose that this love had slung around his neck? The pain in Vash's eyes had mirrored what he displayed now... He cared as much for Caine as he had for Wolfwood, when the priest had trained his gun on Vash and fired - missing, intentionally, but only barely. Vash's eyes had taken in his struggle, put him in his place as they always did...   
  
"That's alright," he whispered. Of course it was, because everything was alright. Everyone died, what did it matter if they fell a few years earlier, or later, or escaped it in youth only to be taken by wheezing old age? Nobody could truly be saved from that eternal ending.... "Just be more careful next time."   
  
Vash's glasses hid his eyes from view, but Wolfwood knew they were not turned on him - they were far away and distant now. No, if Vash had seen his condition he would not be contemplating his morality - and that suited Wolfwood quite fine. He didn't need those eyes boring into his soul now, with their veils of sadness - he would remember them as he had seen them so rarely, pools of happiness, contentment... how many times? Once, maybe twice? "I can't... I can't just..."   
  
No, you can't, can you? Wolfwood felt like he was falling - so he whispered a response to Vash's words, words that dissipated before his eyes. There was nothing to focus on, and he barely kept himself from sagging against his cross and giving up.... with a wry half-smile, Wolfwood whispered. "So let it get to you. That is also the human way of life..."   
  
"Human..."   
  
Oh, Vash. Nobody can help you if you won't help yourself.   
  
And, before he left and finished making his way towards the one edifice that seemed to be calling his soul, Wolfwood felt words leaving his lips. "Knives is in Demitrihi." It was just as well that he say that - and live a few honest seconds in Vash's presence. Out of months, almost years, let him have three seconds to witness the realization, before he slipped away... With nothing to lose, he would give Vash all the knowledge he could - which was only...only...   
  
That statement slipped out and hung tangible in the air as Vash and Wolfwood sat, neither meeting the other's eyes - and then Wolfwood turned beneath the oppressive dessert sun. To escape the heat of those eyes, forever. **That's all I could do for you in the end, Vash.**   
  
**I'm so sorry.**   
  
No goodbyes.   
  
~~~~   
~~~~   
  
It was cooler than outside, and that was all that really mattered to his tortured body, the cool dulled the pain that laced delicate arcs through his skin as he staggered forward. Birds seemed to be everywhere, behind him, in the eves of the abandoned church - but even the presence of small mindless souls could not dull the holy glow of the alter at the head of the aisle. Wolfwood sighed softly as dust motes swirled through his vision and began walking forward again, through the snow of a thousand days of disuse.   
  
It was easy now that he had a goal to reach. That alter....   
  
He had never really been holy, had he?   
  
**You know.....in spite of my profession....I've never made a confession.**   
  
Who knew? God? Wolfwood felt himself smirking at his own sudden burst of piety, though that half-grin failed as his legs gave out and he sagged to his knees, blood beginning to pool beneath him. What a joke.   
  
God, the ghost of a belief in religion had long ago stirred in Wolfwood - because crosses were safe and always present. He could remember so long ago, just barely, warm arms and a necklace of silver, nothing but a cross on a tiny chain. He could remember when it was bigger than his hand, before Chapel, before Legato, before Midvalley....hanging onto the smooth sparkling chain around a woman's neck, a dream to reach up and snatch in his fingertips. He had loved that cross once... And had sworn his soul to what it stood for, once. And had fallen.   
  
Mother? Father? He had never known, nor felt a need to know. But now that he was on the threshold of another world, Wolfwood found himself wondering...   
  
The blood had saturated the outer layer of his coat, and he fumbled desperately for one more cigarette. The match flared with a sulfur-scented pop, an then died away moments later.   
  
A soul.   
  
Were they scared, when they could see the darkness looming up before them? Or was it nothing more than a simple welcome-home to those loving parents he had never met?   
  
Death.   
  
"Still...I feel really happy with myself." A tired smile as birds rushed out of the darkness, through the filtering fog light that cascaded through stained glass windows, doves as white as snow or sun-kissed sand. "Now that I think about it....there are plenty of ways to save everybody..." Hadn't Vash been right then, Wolfwood smiled, as the cross came to rest on his shoulder.   
  
He had let Chapel go.   
  
For a moment his gaze flickered across those figures in his life that had once been so important - it was not a flashing of his life before his eyes, for all he saw were a scattered handful of happy moments, few and painfully far in between. The girl he had loved, her soft lips and eyes, Midvalley's saxophone solos late in the evening, a warm fire and Chapel's company when he was neither drunk nor angry... The children in December with hopeful eyes that hurt so much. Milly and her smile.   
  
Vash.   
  
I...   
  
Oblivion, eternity without Vash - it was bitter and cruel, and the priest staggered forward, lifting one hand as if the gesture could attain what he had never managed to earn in life. "No....I want to stay....with them..."   
  
Oh, God. He *did* want it, like he had never wanted anything before. Vash.... This hell, this superheated pit of filth and suffering... he would endure it for another thousand years if it meant a few more minutes in smiling company, at their side.... Knives could never take that friendship away, could never destroy that bond.   
  
Why had Wolfwood been so afraid of fleeting physical pain? Why hadn't he been strong enough to throw off their dark influences and explain...tell Vash that he loved him more than anything? That he always had, that he would never be away from him. Tell Vash that it would be alright, and that he could win if he tried, and that Wolfwood had always, always known that he was right. You were right, Vash, and I was wrong. And I believe in you. I love you more than life, more than the children, more than your brother, more than whatever God watches us as we cry. More than anything, I love your spirit, your soul, your body, I want to worship you forever...   
  
God, what a thing to realize now, when nothing could be changed. When life was being sucked away so quickly, he had finally found within himself the ability to care so much, and had never given it voice....   
  
......to tell him that......   
  
"If I'm reincarnated," he murmured into the hazy, cool darkness, such a relief from the heat. Soft and cold. "...someplace green....with the girls, and with.... him..."   
  
It floated so tantalizing, that vision of pastures and children, of Vash's lips and arms, Milly's company. A dream-fabric that could never be...   
  
Maybe it was a gift from God, a final mocking part from the deity he had always sought for and never discovered. All his life, in the faces of the children, in Vash's eyes....what had he wanted but reassurance from a higher power? God had promised people a land where they could be happy, and delivered this, this miserable ball of sand. Wolfwood had always hated that God so much...   
  
That was why he carried the cross. To kill in the name of God. To show people the truth behind sparkling promises and commandments, that it was as much of a lie as Wolfwood himself.   
  
A weight had settled in his chest, and the pain seemed to cease it's throbbing, leaving only his pounding heart, so slowly winding down like a broken clock.   
  
"Does....."   
  
Maybe then, God was giving him this last confession, this last moment to understand what he had become, to question.... no.   
  
No, he wanted to sob. No, please, why now? Why did he have to really *believe*, beneath all layers of himself, in his soul - why did he have to fucking believe in this God, in Vash? Nicholas had always known that hope led to disappointment, had always known, and yet...   
  
God had disappointed him more than anyone.   
  
And yet... maybe.....   
  
Tears rose in his eyes, burning sharply - and he inhaled, the nicotine relaxing, but not enough. They threatened to squeeze loose, those tears, and betray him now at his final moment....   
  
"Was I wrong? Does this mean I was wrong?"   
  
Had *he* disappointed? Had *he* been the one falling short of expectations, not God or Heaven or even Vash? He had justified, he had explained, he had vindicated, but maybe in the end, none of that mattered. Sin was sin, and redemption....   
  
Nicholas D. Wolfwood cringed as the lead in his body seemed to pull him closer to the ground, burning it's way down through his body.   
  
He had let Chapel go, even if it meant dying for Vash's angelic cause, saved the man's life almost automatically. And....maybe....he'd been saved, too, when Chapel had gone free.....   
  
"I suppose it would be foolish to ask for forgiveness now," the priest whispered brokenly, the well of his soul breaking open. It was his fault, then. Every little death and despair he had ever committed, nothing but blackness on his own fault - sin. It was all he was, that burning, endless sin.   
  
Salty tears plunged down his face, softly touching the ground and fading, like the match had, like Wolfwood's life, short and sharp and gone. He had never used to cry, had thought it was weak..... He had broken, then, lost his nerve and fangs, indeed.   
  
Ah, well. A failure in everything, then. He let his forehead fall against the cross.   
  
"I...can't stand....this..."   
  
Nicholas D. Wolfwood didn't know anything, just that the darkness was so soft, and he had wanted to wait for someone, but couldn't. He had never been pure, had never truly lived or loved, had never truly kissed or prayed or dreamed, had never hoped, never confessed how scared and lonely he had always been.   
  
But he would. One more breath. One more thought.   
  
**Forgive me...my Father.... for I have sinned.....**   
  
He was drowning in a sea of gold. 


	20. and escape is impossible

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Author's note:   
  
Oh...my God. It's over. Finally, my Wolfwood muse has been appeased. *grins* This story wound up so much longer than I wanted it too - but what the hell. I had so much fun mucking around in Wolfwood's head for a few months, and I hope you all enjoyed the ride. I hope I changed how you see Trigun, even just a little bit, and I hope you'll remember this story next time you watch the show~! That would be the ultimate victory for me as an author. ^^; Thanks to everyone who commented, helped with the ending, and encouraged me in any way... this chapter is for all of you, and I sure as hell hope the ending satisfies all of you.   
  
~~Tomo, who's gonna take a loooong break from writing and enjoy the freedom. XD~!   
~~~~   
  
To Love a Lie   
Chapter 20 - Finale   
  
  
No sound, no light, no breathing, nor was there the opposite of such things (it was not quiet or really dark at all) - they were simply not there, a void, an absence. There was no ground, no gravity, no air, and no thought.   
  
What there *was*....a body. A creature here and there, dripping blood that disappeared when it fell, because there was no place to fall to and nothing to fall from. Stationary, suspended... a desolate crossroads, this Nothingness.   
  
A pair of hands groped through the darkness-un-darkness, polluting the plain lack of thought with curiosity, seeking something that it had not the eyes to see. When it chanced upon it's target, fingers catching on the black tails of a tattered suit, they moved quickly, gestured, were joined by others. Moments passed as more poured into the Nothingness and began pulling at the disjointed, unconscious body. They were black things, dismal and melted as if by acid, tipped with broken claws and glass-like lumps of cold, dead flesh.   
  
They could feel it on his skin, and they liked it. Blood. Suffering. More hate than any one being should be forced to endure - and yet, below that, a kindling of warmth. The hands shied from that but would not be pushed away, rather, they pulled harder, for they sensed that he had within him something worth winning, redeeming.   
  
In the nothingness, something began to take shape. First it was no bigger than a pebble, this splotch of less-dark against the empty black background, then it grew, shimmering into something about the size of a cave mouth, completely with massive stone teeth and coal-colored stalagmites. The body they carried caught there, limbs tangled in the uprisings of not-stone columns, and the hands tugged harder.   
  
"What? What's this?"   
  
They pawed at the prize a moment longer before the speaker delivered a swift kick in their midst, and they scattered like raindrops, not so much running as ceasing to exist before the light of her paltry lantern that cast a glow so brilliant and solid that it was almost physical - the flowing light seemed to give the ghostly illuminator substance - and when the matter-lamp neared the body below it, that too gained stability.   
  
"Oh, I see. I should have known you would come looking for what I sought!" Something chittered at the trespasser, but she did not so much as look up in response, instead shook her head and stretched out her arms. "I'm glad I found you though, Nicholas. There would be quite an unhappy ending if you hadn't gotten yourself hung up here." Gently the woman unwound the limp body of a once-priest from the stone he had pressed against, with strength that belied her appearance. "Not that I can promise you much," a soft smile as she paused in her motions and pushed his bangs out of his eyes, thoughtfully. "Oh, I see. Too much warmth in you yet to damn you to that eternal suffuring, hmm? That must be what he saw in you, too, however close to dying that hope may be."   
  
In the light of the matter-lamp, Nicholas D. Wolfwood stirred, lips fluttering. The woman knew the signs - she had seen it before. His body was dead, but his heart? "No.... dn....dun...t...."   
  
"That's right. You stay with him, until we get out of here."   
  
She picked up the lamp and continued walking.   
  
~~~~   
~~~~   
  
Vash's breath escaped his body, puffing into the atmosphere and hovering white-hot for a moment before dissipating into nothingness. His blood, eerily red-orange, sometimes magenta as he moved, was splattered across the coat that seemed to hold volumes of images in it's seams, images of geraniums and brown-eyed women and Vash and sand and ships....   
  
Knives was standing, powerful, resonating in a massive aura of blue-black, inky and dark, but filled with something terribly strong at the core. Words wove tiny undulating wreaths above his head, thoughts and hopes all woven into something that look almost like Vash - Knives' thoughts. The words he felt. Love.... jealousy, terror, power, adoration.   
  
And Wolfwood stood, watching through eyes no longer confined by three dimensions. He stood - and could see the others standing, circling the crater that had formed around the combatants, recognized some, not others.   
  
He could see a figure barely recognizable as Legato Bluesummers, behind his master, eyes empty sockets, a bullet hole in his forehead. He was smiling toothily like a dog, naked and gender-less, hair long down his back. Behind him were others, Wolfwood saw Chapel, saw Caine unmasked at last, saw Dominique with her naked breasts and single glowing red eye... Zazie, tiny and riddled with bullets, dripping black blood. Beyond them he fancied he could see millions of others, some whole, some mere pieces and shadows of what they once were, filling the crater and holding their collective breath - wraiths of souls, all that was left of millions of pieces.   
  
A man turned and smiled at him - in one hand he held a gun, in the other, an apple. He was broad-chested and smiling, dark hair - and a 'Project Seeds' logo was tattooed in his upper arm. Beside him, Midvalley, missing large portions of his flesh but eerily beautiful with a ghostly musical instrument clutched to his breast - he smiled at Wolfwood with blank eyes.   
  
They were waiting.   
  
Knives' boot made close contact with Vash's face, and the blonde tumbled backwards, a mound of flesh far too injured to stand. Wolfwood could see his blood in his veins, could comprehend the inhuman substance of his bones and eyes, could see what he saw and what Knives saw and at the same time seemed to hover above and absorb everything...   
  
Heavy breathing, and a blood-red sky. Knives slowly reloaded, as Vash's gun proved empty of bullets. A soft click, and the standing fighter had attained Vash's gun as well, lifted it up, grinned in exhaustion. Through Vash's eyes, Wolfwood could see terror. Through Knives' - victory. Through the sky, he could see the dust-choked light of the twin suns spark off something aching-ly familiar shining in the dirt.   
  
In the dirt?   
  
A low hum filled the night-day, and Wolfwood took a step forward, then another, then was running, staring as Knives threw his energy into the two massive guns sprouting from his arms, leaping and twisting into the sky like pulsating animals, ready to fire.   
  
He didn't know what he was doing, but he threw himself into Vash's arms, and as he sank through, unable to touch those first three precious dimensions - words echoed from his lips.   
  
"What are you doing, you idiot?! It's right next to you! Use it, dammit!"   
  
As the gunshots rang out, Wolfwood heard the dead raise an ungodly cry of victory, and then someone began shaking him.   
  
~~~~   
~~~~   
  
"Wake up, Nicholas, wake up..."   
  
Vash? Where was Vash, had he won? There had been so much blood... "We're home, you don't need to sleep any longer. He's safe, don't worry. It's okay to open your eyes."   
  
He did open them, then. Blinked back dry tears and sand, coughed once, and tried to focus his eyes as warm hands caught against his back. "Vash?"   
  
"No, no. Vash is still down there, you're safe now." Wolfwood lapped thirstily at the cup pressed to his lips, gulping down liquid so cold it nearly scalded his throat. When he could think straight, he looked up - and balked.   
  
The woman was sitting there, next to him, legs out in front of her, crossed at the ankles. They were sitting on a checkered blanket, beneath a tree studded with fruits rounder and redder than Wolfwood had ever seen before - and beside them was a thermos, a meal, a bundle of recently picked red flowers. For a moment he didn't know what to say - then met the woman's eyes.   
  
She had haunted him in his dreams and - Wolfwood realized - had always haunted Vash's. There was really only one woman she could be, and...hadn't he known all along?   
  
Wolfwood smiled faintly. "Rem... Saverem. You're...you're beautiful."   
  
Long, black hair in shimmering waves, friendly, warm eyes - she was happy, untainted by humanity's fall onto Gunsmoke, given eternal light by her selfless sacrifice and guiltless name... Rem Saverem, an innocent, a martyr who Vash loved, whose cause he had devoted his life to. "You're Vash's saint, aren't you? Or are you a guardian angel?"   
  
"I'm just an old woman," Rem tilted her head, and smiled. "But I must admit, Nicholas, you are not what I expected. I assumed Vash's soulmate would be...more like him."   
  
"Soulmate?"   
  
"And by the way," she grinned teasingly, "you're dead."   
  
"Yeah," Wolfwood sighed, turning his head and running a hand through his hair. "I am, aren't I? The grass gave it away - that and the apples. Never had that while I was alive, that was for sure. Where are we? Eden?"   
  
"You could say that - my Eden, and Vash's Eden. Do you like it here?"   
  
"It's...nice."   
  
"I want to speak more with you, Nicholas, as I have been without company for quite some time. But first, won't you walk to the path, there? A man waits for you."   
  
Wolfwood looked up, stood, and trotted down the hill. He was still clad in his dark suit, and mentally decided that was the first thing that would go, now that he was dead. Black was boring, dismal, and hot. He greeted Midvalley with a nod, and paused, unsure of what to say.   
  
A slight smile. "Chapel?"   
  
"Yeah?"   
  
"They gave me a new saxophone. One without a gun. See?"   
  
"S'nice." And it was, too. Brand new and damned expensive looking. "Blows your other one outta the water. Gotta light?"   
  
"Here."   
  
They stood on the side of the road for a moment, cigarettes smoking in the brilliant afternoon, watching souls file by. Midvalley himself was the man Wolfwood had known long before Legato had touched him - the true musician, filled with hopes and dreams and songs to sing, before the blood. The saxophone around his next shone brilliantly, though Wolfwood could count the blades of grass through it's transparent shades.   
  
"Where are they going?" Wolfwood asked, at last.   
  
"To heaven? To be reborn?" The musician shrugged. "I told them I didn't want to go to hell, so they told me to walk this road. You...you've still got a body. That means you're special, huh? You were always damned special."   
  
Wolfwood looked down, oddly saddened by his own solid appearance, and nodded blankly. All the other souls were empty shells, without any substance to them - only he was different. "I think Vash won."   
  
"I think he did to. What does that mean, to you?"   
  
"I don't know," Wolfwood inhaled deeply, wondering if this would be his last cigarette. "I really don't know."   
  
"I know what I'm up to," Midvalley turned, grinned impishly. "Reincarnation. Somewhere else, and nowhere with any sand. Maybe...a snow world. Good and cold, that is, is snow really even exists."   
  
"It exists." Wolfwood was sure of it, for some reason. "You just gotta look really hard. So, reincarnation..."   
  
"Yeah. Nothing can be worse than that lifetime was. But you know what?"   
  
"What?"   
  
"I get the feeling I've done this before - stood on this road, talking to you. Smoking. Do you think that's possible?"   
  
Wolfwood looked down and tried to remember ever being so happy - and could not. "Anything's possible, I guess. Say... Hornfreak, what happened to the others? Legato and his gang?"   
  
"I think some went to Hell," Midvalley shrugged. "I was with a few, but lost them in the crowd - Zazie, Dominique, Rai-Dei. Legato didn't stand a chance, but the rest of us were given a choice. What will you pick? Will you come with me and be reborn?"   
  
Wolfwood kicked at a stone, watched it bounce into the road, and smiled. "Not yet. I gotta talk to the angel up there on the hill first. You go on ahead, Midvalley."   
  
The musician flicked his cigarette into the dust and smirked. "You know what's funny, Chapel?"   
  
"What?"   
  
"I used to wonder if you were... well, my soulmate." The black haired man was almost blushing, looking younger than Wolfwood could ever remember him looking.. "But I don't think I really believe in soulmates - or at least, if you were mine, I wouldn't always be standing in your shadow. I do love you, though. I...just wanted to tell you that, you know."   
  
"You're a damned fool, Midvalley, but...I... I guess I sort of love you too."   
  
"Don't call me that."   
  
"What?"   
  
"Midvalley."   
  
"Then what-"   
  
The musician whispered something into his former lover's ear, and Wolfwood choked back his surprise. "*That's* you're real name?!"   
  
"Yeah. Don't tell, I'll kill you."   
  
"I'm already dead."   
  
"I'll...hurt ya. A lot."   
  
Wolfwood paused, grinned slightly, and whispered back.   
  
"No way! Seriously? They named you that?"   
  
"Yeah."   
  
"Hehehe. Cute. Real cute."   
  
"Shut up." Midvalley looked up, hearing something Wolfwood couldn't quite sense.   
  
"Hey, I think it's time for me to go," he told his partner, giving the priest a long look, then sticking out his hand, waiting for a shake.   
  
"I...was jealous, to think that you loved Legato," the priest admitted as he took the not-quite-solid palm, and shook it gently. He shivered.   
  
"I'm still jealous that you love Vash."   
  
Nicholas D. Wolfwood shrugged and relinquished the grasp.   
  
"But good luck...finding him and all. I'm sure you will. You never took no for an answer, anyway, did you, Chapel?"   
  
"Nope, never did."   
  
"I'll...remember you, Chapel - Nicholas D. Wolfwood. That's all I can say in the end, huh?"   
  
For a moment the priest looked sad. "Nah," he admitted, at last, as Midvalley turned and began walking again, losing substance as he rejoined the slow march of souls, until he was indistinguishable, and gone. "I don't think you will."   
  
~~~~   
~~~~   
  
"This is where I give you a choice, Nicholas."   
  
"A choice?"   
  
"Yes, there are two roads that you may turn on, both are dangerous, neither is easy. Either might lead you back to Vash, though. You do want to be with him, don't you?"   
  
"I love Vash."   
  
"Then choose, and take my hand." Rem Saverem put out her left hand, which glimmered a strange, incandescent gold as she spoke. "Firstly, you may choose to be reborn into another body - I can't promise you'll be on Gunsmoke, of course. Finding Vash and learning to love him in a new body is all up to you..."   
  
Another lifetime in hell... "And the other?"   
  
She put out her right hand, edged in silver-blue, soft and gentle. "You can wait here, with me."   
  
"For how long?"   
  
"Who knows? A year, a century, forever, maybe. Maybe Vash will never die. Maybe Knives will stay with him and together they will escape the fingers of time...."   
  
An eternity, never knowing where, or when, or what Vash was doing....   
  
The choice oddly wasn't as hard as he had thought it would be.   
  
"I know what I have to do," Nicholas D. Wolfwood said, smiling faintly. "It's what he would do, don't you think?"   
  
Rem nodded, and looked pleased. "I expected no less of you, Nicholas."   
  
He took her hand, and chose.   
  
Maybe.... just maybe he did believe in happy endings, after all.   
  
  
~~owari~~ 


End file.
